


Come Around

by engensi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (except crowley), (sometimes), 5+1 Things, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demons Are Assholes, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Armageddon, Truly Terrible Dancing, lots of both tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engensi/pseuds/engensi
Summary: 5 times an angel lies(+1 time he doesn't)





	1. Would You Be So Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall! i posted my first good omens fic almost a week ago, so this one is already overdue!! 
> 
> i've had the outline and the first two parts almost completely written before i lost power at my house for literally no reason??? so i had to start over rip
> 
> i'll be updating this basically as i write it, so it shouldn't take too long to finish (hope i didn't just jinx myself lmAo)
> 
> any mistakes are all mine as this is unbeta'd! blame spell check and my bad brain lmao
> 
> edit: ive come back around to rename the chapters with lyrics that SCREAM these two idiots. this one is would you be so kind by dodie ;)

It first began, as these things were wont to do, on a quiet winter morning. This one happened to be in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

The angel had been _enjoying_ his morning, flipping the sign on the door to _‘Open!’_ somewhere around 10. The warm light of his gas lamps combined with the smell of old books still put him at ease, even after all these years. Snow was falling softly outside, muffling the chaotic noise of London a bit and bringing with it that impatient sense of the incoming holidays that December promised. He still hadn’t heard anything from the Head Office, not since Adam Young ordered both Heaven and Hell to leave them alone over 6 months before.

He had a tea service set out and had just sat in his favorite armchair, a good book in hand, when his front door burst open, the small bell above it almost breaking off from the force.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, tea cup resting against his bottom lip.

There stood Crowley, wrapped in too many layers to be comfortable, snow and malice swirling around his feet as he clomped- yes, _clomped_ into the shop. The heavy black boots he wore were packed with already melting snow, making small puddles on the hardwood under him.

“Do shut the door, Crowley, or are you trying to heat all of London?” Aziraphale set his cup back down on the tray beside him, lips twitching as he tried to fight off a grin.

“Anything to end this bloody weather, angel!” The demon waved a gloved hand carelessly at the heavy door, forcing it to close if it knew what was good for it. “I am sick to death of the cold! I might actually _be_ sick! Can demons even get sick? If not, then I am _definitely_ one of a kind!”

Aziraphale chuckled as he got up from his comfortable spot, allowing Crowley to rant and shuck his numerous layers onto the floor. “I swear, you get more prickly every winter, my dear.” The angel snapped his fingers and the scattered outerwear was miraculous hung up on the coat peg by the door.

Crowley glared at him, his dark shades slightly fogged and fiery hair a right state from his designer beanie. “I swear this is my punishment from the bust Armageddon. God is _torturing_ me with this cold front, knowing I’m going to freeze my bollocks off and _die!_ ”

The angel snorted, cheeks heating slightly, and covered his mouth. How dramatic. He stepped up to unwind the crimson knit scarf hanging around the demon’s neck. “It’s only the first snowfall of the year, dear. I have no idea why you don’t retire to the south during winter at this point, to be honest. Greece is wonderful this time of year, and I know how you love to make fun of tourists at the Parthenon.” Aziraphale smiled at him, turning to hook the scarf on the coat peg with the demon’s jacket.

It was quiet for a moment. Aziraphale turned back to the other, an eyebrow raised in question. He willed it back down to a normal elevation; he had been spending too much time with Crowley.

The demon in question just stared at him, lips pursed and brows drawn behind his glasses. “You haven’t left your bookshop for that long since you opened it.”

“Um,” Aziraphale blinked, quite confused with the sudden topic change. “I-I suppose that’s true. How is it relevant, though?”

The angel could only as Crowley opened his mouth, paused, and let out a rush of air as he raked a hand through his already messy hair, turning to look out the frosted window. “I guess it isn’t.” He seemed… Dejected?

_Oh!_

“Crowley-”

Something in Aziraphale’s voice must have caught his attention, for he whipped back around to stare at the other, back ramrod straight and shoulders tight. He looked like he was ready for a fight.

It broke the angel’s heart.

“Crowley, darling,” he said, catching the way the occult being twitched at the endearment. He frowned, not wanting to make his friend uncomfortable. “I-I mean, my boy, this isn’t like Alpha Centauri. If you wanted to go on holiday during the winter, you can always ask. I could never imagine having a problem following you across the world.”

Aziraphale caught up with his own words only moments after they escaped, causing his face to flame and panic to set his heart racing. After _6,000 years_ , he finally let the cat out of the bag and now Crowley was going to _hate_ him or be _disgusted_ by him or quietly pretend it hadn’t happened and he didn’t know which one would be _worse_ -

Time seemed to slow to a standstill as he watched Crowley open his mouth, obviously about to deliver Aziraphale’s death sentence, when the bell above the door rang out and broke the moment.

They both turned to watch as an elderly woman hobbled in from the cold, snow melting in her silver curly hair. Her lilac colored coat was promptly hung up next to one of Crowley’s, standing out against the all the black. She looked around for a moment, leaning a bit on her wooden cane, before spotting them and smiling politely.

“Good morning, gentlemen! Are one of you the proprietor of this shop?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale choked, clearing his throat slightly as he took a step away from the demon. He valiantly swallowed his terror and slapped on his customer service smile. “That would be me, madam. How may I help you?”

“Oh, I was looking for a book,” she said, hobbling over to him on her cane. Crowley politely moved away from them, towards the counter with the old fashioned register that was barely used.

“Obviously,” the demon muttered, though not very quietly.

The customer narrowed her eyes in his direction, as if she were thinking of hitting him with her cane.

“What kind of book?” Aziraphale jumped in. After all, he didn’t want violence to break out in his shop. He had a feeling Crowley wouldn’t come away unscathed.

The woman turned to him again, making the demon let out a breath audible from across the room. She smirked. “It’s an old book, of course. My great grandmother used to read it to me when I was little, and I wanted to start that tradition up with my newborn grandson.”

The angel smiled warmly, feeling the love pouring out of the elderly woman. One of the perks to being an angel was the ability to feel good things everywhere, like love, which this woman seemed to have an abundance of. “Of course, madam. Would you happen to have the title or the author?”

Here, the woman sighed mournfully. “‘Fraid not, dearie. My memory isn’t what it used to be. I can remember bits and pieces, though, would that help?”

Even a _demon_ couldn’t say no to her hopeful, pleading face. Good thing he wasn’t, as the angel jumped at the chance to help.

“Worth a shot, right?” Aziraphale smiled widely, ushering her over to his chair with the untouched tea service. A little twitch of his fingers and the pot was steaming once more. He sat on the small floor pouf decorated with little bow ties tucked under the chair, something Crowley once got him as a gag gift. “Please, make yourself comfortable and tell me what you remember.”

He listened as the elderly woman described her book and sipped her tea, smiling as he made notes on a little notepad from his pocket. He admired the woman’s dedication to details, such as the texture of the pages and the style of the front cover.

Of course, he also noticed how Crowley leaned against the counter behind her, watching them with his chin in his hand. His eyes were unreadable behind his spectacles, but the small smile on his lips was easier to define.

Aziraphale ducked his head again, hiding his own smile.

When the woman finished her description, the angel straightened up and checked his notes. It sounded familiar enough…

“Oh!” he grinned, swiftly rising from his own seat before helping the old woman to her feet. “I think I know where that is!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, apparently, as even Crowley grinned and moved out of the way when the angel came bustling around the counter. He headed towards a case in the North wing, already picturing where the novel would be housed.

Aziraphale grinned as he looked up at the top shelf of the case. There it was, sitting amongst its brethren, just as he thought it would be! As he reached up, he immediately encountered a problem: it was _inches_ out of reach.

The angel frowned, straining and stretching his arm, trying to make up the distance. He contemplated performing a miracle to get it down, but the woman was watching him with barely contained amusement.

He dropped back to his heels, toes and side aching a bit, as he stared up at the offending novel. The angel heard a huff of laughter behind him before a darkly clad arm suddenly invaded his eyesight. “Honestly, angel, I’m going to buy you a step ladder one of these days.”

The heavy book was dropped into Aziraphale’s hands. He blinked at it for a moment before his felt his entire face grow warm. Wrinkling his nose at the smirking demon, he thanked him primly before turning back to his customer.

Before he could even start, the woman chuckled, deepening her wrinkles. “My wife used to do things like that for me too, bless her soul.” Her bittersweet expression only touched on the sudden feeling of melancholic love she pushed out from her soul, causing Aziraphale’s breath to stutter in his lungs.

It also didn’t help that her insinuation made his cooling face reignite with embarrassment.

“Oh! He’s not- We’re not- I mean-”

Crowley fled then, heading towards the back room with bright red ears . Aziraphale caught a glimpse of his hand over his mouth before he disappeared and the angel felt his stomach drop out.

Oh. Alright. _Disgust_ was the answer to that question, then.

“Don’t worry, love,” Aziraphale’s quiet breakdown was interrupted by the elderly woman, whom he had quite forgotten about as his heart was breaking. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Your young man seems to love you very much.”

The angel smiled tightly at the woman, feeling his face flush further against his will. He quickly brought the book to the register, intent on getting her out as soon as possible. As he was writing out the necessary information for his records, the older woman placed a hand on his own, effectively capturing his attention.

“Listen, my dear, if you two really aren't together, then you're both blind.” The woman raised an eyebrow at the angel, a kind smile on her lips. “It’s obvious to just about anyone with eyes that you love each other, and time isn't forever. If I could go back and be with my wife sooner, I would, because there was already so much wasted time before we both had to buck up and have a little faith.”

She patted his hand, then, grinning mischievously. Hers was dark and soft against his own, heavily lined though he had lived so much longer than her. “Have courage, my dear. As the kids say, you only live once.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aziraphale bit his lip, ducking his head as the customer withdrew her hand. He finished cashing her out (at an extraordinarily discounted price, to boot) and helped her back into her coat. As she left the shop, the bell ringing happily above her, the angel sighed deeply as his earlier panic reared its ugly head again. He would rather face all of Heaven alone than go find Crowley at that moment.

Aziraphale steeled himself and determinedly made his way to the back room. It was cramped, the space not really made for what he used it for, but it was comfortable. The small kitchenette shoved in the corner was rarely used, while the tattered sofa and threadbare armchair dominated most of the space.

Crowley himself was lounging on the sofa, a glass of something amber in his hands despite the early hour.

“What a lovely woman,” Aziraphale said with a smile and a shake of his head. He moved to the kitchenette, determined to make himself a cup of tea the human way to soothe his simmering anxiety.

“Sure, lovely, right,” he muttered, draining his glass in one go. The angel tutted reproachfully.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that, Crowley?” He sat in the armchair with a contented sigh, sipping delicately on his too hot tea.

He didn’t have to see the demon’s eyes to know he was rolling them. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, etcetera etcetera.” He then reached for the crystal bottle on the table between them to refill his glass.

It grew quiet then, Aziraphale occasionally sipping from his cup while Crowley stared into his as if it held answers he was searching for. The old clock on the wall ticked away, the only noise in the room.

The angel took the time to ponder on what the old woman said. _‘Have courage.’_ He felt his heart ache something fierce, a well of _yearning_ opening up in him. He wished he had courage.

But courage couldn’t make Crowley love him. His expression as he made a break for it earlier was proof enough of that.

His mounting inner turmoil was then interrupted by the being who caused it.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, feeling brittle, as he set down his cup. “It’s barely gone half past ten, Crowley. They’re not serving lunch anywhere at the moment.”

The demon huffed, sitting forward to set his own glass down next to the angel’s. He looked at Aziraphale over his sunglasses, golden eyes sparkling in the lamp light, as a mischievous smirk settled on his face. “Brunch, then. I know how you adore those little pie things in that café in Athens.”

“Oh, their spinach and feta pites are to _die_ for,” Aziraphale moaned, already craving the dish. A sudden choking noise made him turn back to the demon.

Crowley’s glasses had slid down his pointy nose, allowing him to stare openly at the angel. Two spots of color sat high on his cheeks. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

“Crowley? Are you alright, my dear?”

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance held him then, jerking back as he roughly pushed his dark glasses back up. The color on his cheeks seemed to be spreading.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Crowley said roughly. He jumped up from the sofa then, giving the angel a start. “Race you to Greece!”

And he was gone, the bell at the front tinkling behind him.

Aziraphale shook his head with a small chuckle. He rose from his own seat at a more leisurely pace, snapping his fingers to clean the glasses and send them back to their cupboard.

“What a cheat.”

Then he chased after his demon, feeling content enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO
> 
> i love writing these two so much, oh my gosh theyre just so DRAMATIC i live for it
> 
> check out [my tumblr](http://spaceybutt.tumblr.com) if you want to yell about these two idiots! (or anything really i have no friends lol)


	2. We Can Go Back and Play Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo!! so this is one is a bit shorter than the first one but it made me FEEL THINGS so i hope you enjoy anyway :)
> 
> chapter title is alone together by fall out boy
> 
> as always any mistakes are mine and my brains fault

It had been about a week since _The Incident,_ as Aziraphale privately thought of it. Which he did quite a lot of. Think of it, that is. He couldn’t seem to help fixating on the baffling woman who assumed the two of them were a couple and told him to _‘have courage.’_

Crowley, on the other hand, appeared to have put it out of his mind altogether.

The angel anxiously anticipated when he would bring up what the woman spoke of, or his reaction to it, but- nothing. Radio silence on that front. Sure, Crowley acted normally, lounging on various surfaces and causing minor mischief. He drank all of Aziraphale’s good wine with him, complained of the angel’s unrelented thwarting of his pranks, and generally continued to make a nuisance of himself.

Aziraphale _knew,_ however, that the demon had not cast The Incident out of his mind as easily as he liked to pretend.

On numerous occasions over the ensuing week, he caught Crowley staring at him. His eyes were always unreadable (those _bloody_ glasses were going to drive Aziraphale spare one day) but his pinched mouth was enough of a tell.

Crowley was frustrated. With what, exactly? Well, Aziraphale couldn’t be sure.

Could it be that a stranger had concluded they were… Involved? It had never seemed to bother the demon in the past, because of course various people throughout the millennia have construed their close bond as something romantic. A friendship couldn’t span 6,000 years without a few missteps along the way.

Would it be how noticable a reaction he had? Aziraphale knew Crowley prided himself on having a tight control of his emotions and how he presented himself to others. He had gotten away with deceiving Hell for a good bit, after all.

Maybe it was that Crowley was now uncomfortable around Aziraphale, because he finally figured out what the angel had been hiding from him for so long.

Aziraphale had periodically lost his breath during the week as _that_ thought flitted through his mind. It seemed like his rather _unnecessary_ heart had issues with that logic, as it protested by clenching up so hard that everything hurt.

He _pined._

As pathetic as he found it, the angel _pined_ and _yearned_ and _wanted_ Crowley- to understand, and (maybe, possibly) return his feelings. Even if he wasn’t supposed to. Even if Heaven would be appalled and disgusted by his feelings.

Even if it made him Fall.

Even then, as the two of them occupied Aziraphale’s rarely used flat above the bookshop, he thought about how the demon made him more… Human, as silly as it was.

He watched from the kitchen as Crowley ranted about something or other, draped across the rather uncomfortable couch the demon kept trying to replace. _Golden Girls_ played on the TV behind him, forced there by Crowley at some point because “It’s the 21st century, angel, you should at least have a telly! I’m rather proud of this one!” His unspokenly claimed mug was on the coffee table, whiskey-laced tea still steaming even after sitting untouched for an hour.

He felt his chest ache even more as Crowley gesticulated dramatically.  It took a long time to work through what Heaven had told him of demons, but Aziraphale _knew_ the demon could feel love, had felt it on several occasions while with him. It came from things one would expect: his Bentley, his plants, a particular pair of glasses that he wore often (even though they were essentially identical to the others he owned.) The angel even felt it from Crowley when children were nearby, that particular warmth he first noticed all the way back in Mesopotamia, even if it had been tinged with horror.

Aziraphale also knew, however, that Crowley didn’t love _him._ Sure, he was fond of the angel, even if he never said as much. He would have to be to stick around for so long, after all.

But Aziraphale would know if the demon felt the same way.

He would _know._

In an effort to distract himself from his cracking heart, the angel picked up the pile of mail that he had settled on the counter when they first entered. As he was sorting through junk, he came across a handwritten letter addressed to both of them.

Aziraphale blinked. How odd.

He opened the envelope carefully, not wanting to accidentally rip what was inside. It turned out to be an invite to join dear Anathema and Newton for a Solstice celebration at Jasmine Cottage. The angel smiled, the witch’s curled penmanship looping around Newton’s own blocky chicken scratch. It worked, somehow, like the pair of them.

He glanced over at Crowley before turning his attention back to the missive, his cheeks flushing slightly.

 _Definitely_ like the pair of them.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, pausing the demon’s tirade. “Seems as if we’ve been invited back to Tadfield for a Solstice party.” He waved the pieces of paper at Crowley, still staring at the two contrasting names. Crowley sat up from his previous position of lazing on the sofa and turned sideways, making grabby hands at the paper.

“Are we going, you think?”

“I think we should,” the angel shrugged, handing over both the letter and the envelope without fuss. He watched as those golden eyes swept over the short missive, lips twitching into a soft smile. He quickly turned to grab a biscuit from the tray next to him. “It would be nice to see the children, and Anathema recently purchased Jasmine Cottage, so it seems like she’s sticking around for the moment. Couldn’t imagine it has anything to do with that young Witchfinder, eh?”

Aziraphale sent the demon a cheeky grin, biting into his biscuit daintily. Crowley huffed a laugh, setting the letter next to him on the cushion. “Haven’t the foggiest why that girl settles for-”

“Crowley?” the angel frowned, wiping the crumbs from his mouth. They disappeared before they hit the hardwood. “What’s wrong, dear?”

Crowley himself had his brows draw downward behind his glasses, his mouth pursed. He was staring at the envelope so intensely that Aziraphale was surprised it hadn’t burst into flames already. “Did you notice this was addressed to the both of us?”

The angel blinked, confused by the sudden change in the demon. “Yes?”

“No, Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned, dropping his head back to rest against the back of the couch. “It’s addressed to both of us. She literally wrote _‘To Misters Aziraphale and Crowley Fell!’_ ”

Aziraphale came up behind him then, leaning down to take another look at the offending envelope. He couldn’t understand why the demon was making such a fuss about this…

Oh.

“Oh,” he echoed, his heart suddenly thrumming at the implication. He hadn’t caught that, before. Honestly, he had quite forgotten that his supposed last name was Fell. “I suppose she did. Wonder why?”

Crowley turned toward him to answer and suddenly they were inches away from each other, Aziraphale’s wide blue eyes reflected in the dark shades. They stayed like that for a moment, frozen in time, just staring at one another. Neither of them breathed. The angel’s previously hammering heart was now trying to make a valiant escape from his chest.

 _‘It would be so easy,’_ Aziraphale thought dazedly, wanting to lean in towards the demon with his entire being. It was so _tempting_ …

Which was why his body screamed in protest as he did the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted and moved away. His cheeks and ears burned in a vexing blend of embarrassment and shame.

He was a coward, after all, set in his ways. Didn’t want to make ripples, draw attention.

As he made his hasty escape back to the counter, desperately trying to hide his flushed face, Aziraphale caught the shadow of something cross Crowley’s face. He looked… Disappointed? Lord above, the angel was determined to get those spectacles off him one day.

“It-It was probably a mistake,” Aziraphale said instead, his voice rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, still feeling something wedged there.

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, sounding just as shaken up. “Easy enough one to make.”

Aziraphale glanced at him through his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. Crowley had turned back to stare at the telly, though he knew the demon wasn’t actually watching it.

“Shall I send out a positive answer, then?” Crowley proposed, turning back to look at him for a moment. He sounded more like himself, so disaffected and casual.

Aziraphale smiled at him as he picked up his still miraculously warm cup of tea, feeling his heart splinter a bit more. “I think that would be splendid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i HATE them i swear
> 
> aziraphale really is the embodiment of gay panic huh 
> 
> poor crowley lmao he was so CLOSE
> 
> come yell at me on [my tumblr!](http://spaceybutt.tumblr.com)


	3. Let the Devil In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me a little longer to update this time around yall
> 
> man this one is a WHOPPING 4000 words!!! the longest chapter by far!!!
> 
> chapter title is monster by dodie :)
> 
> !!content warning!! check the notes at the end for exactly what! this is where we finally get into the Hurt Crowley tag yall!!
> 
> and as always any mistakes are mine and the gremlin that acts as my brain

“What about this one, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up from the soft yellow cardigan he was holding, people scurrying around them with their own shopping. He wished he hadn’t.

Crowley held aloft a maroon sweatshirt with what looked to be a drawing of Jesus… sneezing into his elbow?

“I don’t get it.”

The mischievous smirk on the demon’s face instantly disappeared. The bustle of the shopping center around them seem to grow louder in the silence that hung between the two supernatural beings. “What d'you mean, you _don't get it?_ ”

“I mean,” Aziaphale wrinkled his nose as he neatly folded the cardigan back into place, turning back to face his companion. “That I don’t know why a sweater of Jesus Christ sneezing is an appropriate gift for the son of Satan.”

Crowley, for whatever reason, seemed to be absolutely baffled. “I- What- _Sneezing?_ For all the bloody-”

The angel stifled a laugh and plucked the sweatshirt out of the sputtering demon’s hands. He hummed as he looked it over, inspecting it for any mistakes in the stitching, as Crowley attempted to pull himself together.

Just as Crowley opened his mouth, most likely to criticize him for still culturally living in the 19th century, Aziraphale interrupted with a cheery “Actually, I think we should get it!” The angel quickly placed the garment into their basket as he watched, looking positively bewildered.

Aziraphale chuckled at Crowley’s expression; he was a bit of a bastard, after all.

“I cannot believe you, angel,” Crowley sighed, rubbing his temples rather vigorously as they continued their hunt through the department store. The angel only smiled serenely in response.

The festive season onslaught was in full swing by that point, people rushing about trying to finish up their Christmas shopping and attempting to dodge the snowdrifts that had piled up throughout the previous days. Loud, cheery holiday music blared in every store, while vendors on the sidewalk sold hot chocolate and warm pretzels to passersby.

It was Aziraphale’s favorite time of year, and Crowley’s _least_.

While the angel adored the general sense of goodwill and cheer that permeated the air during the holiday season, Crowley always saw it as more _work_. Every year without fail, Hell expected him to tempt and irritate humans more and more than the previous year.

He also _hated_ Christmas music with the passion of a dying star.

The two unearthly beings had been through numerous shops in downtown London that day, trying to find the perfect gifts for their human friends. They wanted to do it the “proper way,” or Aziraphale wanted to, at least, since they had never bothered to before.

They had been in their current store for around 15 minutes, Crowley picking up joke gifts with all the seriousness of a clown while the angel reprimanded him fondly. At one point, the demon had eyed an over-the-top festive ugly sweater with growing mischief. Aziraphale only shook his head and steered him away, knowing the sweater would end up in Anathema’s pile of gifts at some point.

The angel perused the selection of sketchbooks the shop was selling, noting with a touch of disdain the ones made to look like antique tomes, as Crowley trailed behind him. He paused, however, when he saw something that caught his eye. It was a glittery notebook with a curly-headed dog on the front. The dog was sitting happily, tongue lolled out in a canine grin. It wore a black collar with a skull and crossbones, a human skull resting at its feet. _‘Bad to the Bone’_ curled around the image in a pretty cursive script.

“I think you’d like this one, Crowley!”

The distinct lack of a sarcastic response made Aziraphale pause, turning to see what could have distracted his companion so thoroughly from him.

“Crowley?”

Crowley, however, was nowhere in sight.

Scanning the immediate area revealed nothing as to where the demon could have gotten off to. Dread steadily crept up Aziraphale’s spine as he dropped the notebook and quickly headed to the front door of the shop.

It seemed that the temperature had dropped since he had last been outside, the wind whipping snow around his ankles and blowing flakes down the stark road. The streets had emptied as the hour grew later, leaving Aziraphale alone on the sidewalk, with only the parked Bentley to keep him company. The angel stood there, freezing and panicked, torn on which direction to start searching.

A noise from the alley next to the shop caught his attention. It was a sort of wet sound, like slicing through meat, accompanied by what sounded like a muffled cry of pain. Vicious laughter followed, a sound that was as familiar as it was horrifying.

Of course the angel followed it.

What he found made Aziraphale’s blood boil and his Grace to erupt out of him in incandescent waves of light, violently enough that it almost discorporated his human body.

There was Crowley, tossed into the snow and bleeding from a large gash on his chest. His glasses lay broken by his feet, a cut across his nose oozing dark blood down his face. A bloodied hand was raised in front of him, as if to shield himself from an incoming blow.

The demon looked terrified. He looked as if he knew he was moments from death.

Above him stood Hastur and a squat, mean looking demon unknown to Aziraphale. Hastur looked as grotesque as ever, though both demons had curled in on themselves in fear as the angel’s fury reached them.

One of Hastur’s arms was covered in what looked to be a thick latex glove that reached his elbow, not unlike the ones used to handle dangerous chemicals. His protected hand held a golden dagger that radiated a soft white light, undimmed by the black ichor dripping off the blade. Aziraphale felt his breath falter for a moment.

He knew that weapon. It belonged to Uriel, though it hadn’t been wielded in millennia.

He _also_ knew it was made of the best celestial steel Heaven could offer.

Celestial steel that, of course, could destroy demons _permanently_ , as it was forged using holy water.

Aziraphale felt the tenuous control on his anger _snap_. His wings exploded out behind him, white feathers swirling with the untouched snow by their feet. They spanned so large that they completely blocked the entrance to the alley, making the glow of his Grace even more blinding in the dim light. When he spoke, it was as if a thousand other voices echoed his words.

_“Hastur, Duke of Hell, how came you by this Heavenly blade?”_

The two standing demons were quick to cower away from him. After a moment, Hastur dared to sneer up at the enraged angel.

“It was a gift, from the Archangels Gabriel and Uriel. They only allowed my possession of it for killing the demon Crowley and,” the demon paused then, straightening a bit when nothing happened to him. He licked his lips, a disgusting smile stealing its way onto his face. The demon next to him seemed to have gained confidence along with Hastur, grinning maliciously up at the angel.

“And they were hoping that by killing your boyfriend, you would go running back into their arms like a _child_. I believe they planned to make an _example_ of you, Heavenly scum.” Hastur laughed wickedly, along with his little cronie.

While the two demons laughed themselves silly, Aziraphale stole a glance at Crowley, who was still sprawled in the quickly blackening snow. He was pale, a hand clutching at his bloody chest, while his golden eyes were wide in fear and… awe? He must’ve hit his head on something, because that couldn’t be right.

 _“Silence!”_ Aziraphale’s voice boomed around them, immediately putting an end to the two demons’ merriment. They were back to looking petrified, at least. _“You forget yourself, Duke of Hell. One angel can destroy twenty demons without a thought. What could a Principality do?”_

“Y-You can’t!” cried the undersized demon, wagging a trembling finger at the angel. Hastur was frantically trying to quiet him. “We have o-orders from Lord Beelzebub themself! The demon C-Crowley _must_ die!”

With that, the demon ripped the celestial blade from Hastur’s grip. Aziraphale watched in frozen horror as he screamed, the skin of his palm already steaming and bubbling from coming into direct contact with an object from Heaven.

The angel snapped out of it when the demon raised a trembling arm above Crowley, poised to strike a killing blow. Time seemed to slow to a stop around them as Crowley’s life hung in the balance.

_“NO!!”_

A blinding flash of light and a _bang_ that seemed to shake the very Earth. Uriel’s blade clattered to the pavement, a smouldering pile of black ash where the short demon previously was. Aziraphale’s outstretched hand (when did that get there?) trembled in the air. His breath wheezed out of him as he realized what he had done.

In all his many years, the angel had never _killed_ anything, let alone _destroy_ something so completely-

_‘He was going to kill Crowley.’_

And just like that, all of his guilt slipped away like water down a riverbed. His breathing evened out and his arm stopped wavering, dropping back to his side with a sense of finality.

Hastur, who had started screaming incoherently when he saw what had become of his partner (again), snapped his attention back to the suddenly calm angel. He looked even more terrified than before, and rightly so.

Aziraphale slowly approached the demon, who frantically tried to get away. Miraculously, his feet appeared to have been stuck fast to the ground, making his escape impossible. The angel rose himself the few inches difference between them to stare directly into Hastur’s soulless black eyes. His own were reflected back at him, burning an otherworldly blue.

The demon twitched as the angel’s Grace enveloped him completely, forcing little choked off sounds of pain from his throat. Aziraphale gripped Hastur’s white blond hair in a tight fist, burning the side of his face where they came into contact.

 _“You’ll tell everyone down there that no one shall harm what is mine. I am the angel who walked through Hellfire and never Fell, so please think before you act against me.”_ Aziraphale pulled Hastur closer, making the demon cry out in agony as the angel’s wrist pressed more firmly to his cheekbone. _“Do you understand me, Duke of Hell? If any future suffering comes to Crowley from Hell, I’ll hunt you down first.”_

“I do!” he croaked, squirming to get away from Aziraphale. The skin where they connected was bubbling up, smoke rising from the prolonged exposure. “I’ll tell them! I swear!”

 _“Good.”_ With that, he released the grip he had on Hastur, flicking his fingers to unstick his feet. The demon scrambled away from him, disappearing not a moment later.

Aziraphale floated softly back to firmer ground as he reigned in his Grace and wings, releasing a noisy breath. A pained whimper from the gutter had him scrambling towards Crowley, ignoring the sharp sting of falling so quickly to his knees on cement. The edge of panic that had kept its place in the back of his mind finally took control, making his hands shake with adrenaline and fear.

“Crowley- Oh-” The angels hands fluttered over the still bleeding wound. “Let me-”

 _“No,”_ Crowley rasped, coughing wetly to the side. A few drops of black blood stained the previously untouched snow. He caught both of the angel’s hands firmly in his own. “No, Aziraphale, don’t heal me like that. I wouldn’t survive it.”

Aziraphale was bewildered. The demon had never denied a healing opportunity from him before. Then again, nothing the angel had ever healed for him had been this serious. “What- What do you mean? I’ve healed you _plenty_ before!”

The demon grinned up at him tiredly, white teeth stained black. “Your Grace, angel, it would kill me. It’s t-too big of a wound-” He turned to cough again, blood spilling over his lips.

His resolve hardened then. Aziraphale quickly hooked his arms under the demon, ignoring his weak protests, and gently lifted him into his arms. “Fine, but we’re not staying here. They could come back at any moment.”

“Wh-” Crowley swallowed thickly, his arms wrapped limply around the angel’s neck. “What a-about the sword?”

Aziraphale glanced at Uriel’s blade, still laying on the ground. The hilt had fallen into the ashes of the demon he killed, smearing them into the creases of the ancient binding around it. They would probably never come out, since miracles couldn’t work on Heavenly objects.

“I’m afraid I have to set you back down for this, darling,” Aziraphale said regretfully. He wanted nothing more than to run away right then, get as far away from that alley as possible with Crowley. But he had to send the blade back to its owner, lest it fall into the wrong hands. Again.

He also wanted to send a _message,_ granted it was a nonverbal one.

“No no, it’s _fine_ , I’ll just bleed q-quietly over here, n-no trouble,” the demon snarked as he was gently set to lean against one of the walls of the alley. Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly before getting to work.

Using the fallen demon’s ashes, Aziraphale quickly sketched out a messy sigil on a cleared area of the ground. It was reminiscent of the communicating sigil he drew all those months ago, with a few minor details switched around. Instead of being able to send messages, it would allow the celestial dagger to be sent straight to Uriel and whoever else was with her.

Sort of like a Heavenly mail chute.

The blade disappeared in a flash of light and the ash drawn circle blew away, leaving nothing behind but Crowley’s blood in the snow.

Aziraphale quickly gathered his demon (yes, _his_ demon, God damn it; he had made his intentions _perfectly_ clear, just then) and fled to the Bentley.

He only prayed no other forces were after them that day.

\-----

Getting Crowley back to his flat was difficult, as any sharp turns the angel made caused him to groan in misery from the back seat. Aziraphale had never driven a day in his life, either, so that made the panic in his chest double as the speedometer steadily rose.

They screeched to a stop in front of Crowley’s stark building, the smell of burning rubber following them up the front steps. Aziraphale made it so no one would pay any attention to them in the lobby, because what was another miracle at that point?

The lift ride to Crowley’s floor seemed to go on for eternity. The demon had refused to lean against the wall for support, instead choosing to cling to Aziraphale as they rose through the building. The angel tried to ignore the wetness seeping through his shirt and jacket as he gripped Crowley closer to him.

When the lift stopped, the small jolt forcing a pained gasp out of the demon, Aziraphale quickly got them into the dark flat. He gently led the demon back to the bedroom, knowing that the unused couch in the living area was as uncomfortable as it was expensive.

“There we go, that’s a dear,” the angel muttered mindlessly, trying his best not to hurt Crowley further as he was set onto the soft mattress. He stared at the demon, fretting on how to help him, when he heard a breathless laugh.

“Calm down, angel,” Crowley said as he smiled up at him, exhausted golden eyes half lidded. “I-I’ll be alright. Don’t worry your p-pretty head about it.”

Aziraphale glared at him, snapping his fingers loudly to miracle away the demon’s unsaveable shirt and jacket. “I will not _‘calm down,’_ Crowley! They _sliced you open!_ ”

“Alright,” the demon breathed, his eyebrows attempting to join his hairline. “Alright, Aziraphale, it’s o-okay. _I’m_ okay, thanks to you.” He took one of the angel’s hands into his own, so _gently_ that the angel almost started crying right then.

He sniffed instead, swallowing his tears back as he held onto the demon’s hand. “I-I have to help you, my dear. You’ll bleed out if I don’t _do_ something about this, and then you’ll be discorporated.” The angel pushed back Crowley’s disheveled hair from his forehead, keeping his touch light, trying not to startle him with the affectionate gesture.

Crowley, however, appeared to have stopped breathing for a moment, his eyes wide and astonished. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Aziraphale blinked, surprised at how easy it was. Usually, the demon fought him every inch of the way when it came to healing him.

“Yeah, do your thing, angel,” the demon said, smiling weakly as a touch of redness crept onto his cheeks. “I trust you.”

Aziraphale felt as if his heart was going to _burst_. Not wasting any more time, he held his hands over Crowley’s mangled chest and called for his Grace to heal him. He was so absorbed already in what he was doing that when Crowley screamed bloody murder, the angel fell onto his arse.

Scrambling back to his feet, he hovered over the demon, not touching him but trying to help nonetheless. “A-Are you-”

“Keep going!” Crowley grunted and reached for those fluttering hands. “You can’t s-stop, Aziraphale, or it hurts more.”

The angel nodded briskly, readying himself before allowing his Grace out once more. The demon started screaming again instantly. His back arched to a painful looking height as the muscles and tendons knit themselves back together, his blood flowing backwards into his body.

It only took a moment, but it felt like it lasted for an age. When the open wound looked no worse than a shallow cut, Aziraphale retreated so quickly his back hit the far wall, the glow of his Grace dimming to nothing. Crowley dropped back to the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, panting and trembling minutely.

The angel felt his heart shatter, knowing he _had_ to do it, but not liking it one bit. “C-Crowley?”

It took a moment, but the demon eventually answered. He sounded _wretched_ , like he had been tortured for days instead of being healed. “Yeah?”

“Can I- Is it-”

A sigh and a flopped arm interrupted his babbling. “Just get over here, angel.”

Aziraphale let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Double checking that all of his Grace was firmly tucked back into himself, he quickly approached Crowley. The demon was sweating heavily, his golden eyes had a hazy sheen over them, and he was still bleeding from another slice on his arm.

But he was _alive_. Aziraphale hadn’t killed him, his body hadn’t discorporated, _he was alive-_

“Hey hey, angel, it’s alright, everything’s okay,” Crowley said gently, if a bit anxious. The demon reached up to gently wipe at one of his cheeks. “There’s no need to cry, love, I’m fine.”

Aziraphale realised then that the tears had finally escaped as all the adrenaline in his system lessened. He sobbed with his next breath, holding the demon’s hand to his cheek. The angel fixed him with a stern, if watery, glare. “ _Never_ do that again, Crowley. I mean it.”

The demon chuckled weakly. “I swear I won’t allow Hastur and whatever goon he’s toting about get the drop on me again.” His thumb brushed against Aziraphale’s cheek, catching the tear there. The angel smiled at him, feeling _so soft_ and full of love for this man- demon- _being_ , he was surprised Crowley himself didn’t feel it.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Aziraphale gently took the demon’s hand off his cheek. “Oh look at me, you’re the one who’s injured and yet you’re still consoling me for being overemotional.”

Crowley smirked up at him, looking fond. “Well, what else would you have me do, angel? Let you cry all over me like a tissue?”

The angel snorted, rather inelegantly, as he scrubbed at his damp face. “You menace. I assume you keep a medical box somewhere?”

“Now why in the bloody Heaven would I do that?” Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, his smirk growing wider. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale, I can just _wish_ my injuries away.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the dramatics. With a snap of his fingers, a fully stocked medical kit sat next to the demon’s hip. “You’ll have to sit up for this one, my dear.”

He helped Crowley up to rest against the headboard, the fluffy pillows almost swallowing him whole. The angel climbed onto the bed beside him, getting comfortable and opening up the first aid kit.

He tried to make quick work of stitching up Crowley’s arm, knowing the demon _hated_ needles. He was interrupted, though, when Crowley made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m almost done, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed. In truth he was only halfway through the cut, going slower than he usually would to prevent as much bleeding as possible.

“What? No, that’s fine, wasn’t even thinking of it,” The demon huffed, looking to steel himself against whatever he wanted to say. The words came tumbling out anyway. “Back in the alley, what- what did you mean by _‘no one will harm what’s yours?’_ ”

The angel paused, his heartbeat kicking up a couple notches as he scrambled to find something, anything to say. Embarrassment made his cheeks flush hotly, keeping his focus on his work as the demon tried to catch his eyes. “I- Well, I think I rather told them what I think when I chose you a-and humanity over Heaven. Earth is _ours_ , and humanity has us to protect it against- well, against everything else.”

Aziraphale risked a peek at Crowley. He looked pensive, his bloody face making him seem like a real demon. The angel jumped slightly when he was caught staring at the demon. Crowley smirked at him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, he seemed... Well. It was like he had accepted something, though the angel couldn't fathom what.

“Let’s hope we’re a bit more competent on that front, eh?”

Aziraphale chuckled weakly as he turned back to his task. He made short work of the last few stitches before running off to the kitchen to get a bowl of water. Crowley still looked like a bloodbath, after all.

The demon slid down the sheets to lay fully on the matress once more. He didn’t seem to mind the constant touching as Aziraphale carefully cleaned and wrapped his wounds.

He did hiss halfheartedly, though, when Aziraphale was accidentally too rough on his split nose.

“Sorry,” the angel cringed, prodding gently at the cut. He carefully stuck a plaster on it, just to be safe. “It doesn’t seem like it’s broken, so there’s one upside.”

“Praise be,” Crowley deadpanned. His tired smirk drooped a bit at the edges, but it was there nonetheless. The sight made Aziraphale shake his head affectionately, his chest growing tight once more.

The angel sat back when he was finished patching up anything hurt on his companion. “That should do it, then.”

Crowley hummed softly in acknowledgement, his eyes already closed. Aziraphale stared down at him, a quick flash of horror tearing through him as he thought of how close the demon had come to death. A warm hand on his knee quickly brought him back to reality.

“R'lax, angel,” Crowley slurred. He hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes, the hand thrown on Aziraphale’s knee now slowly moving back and forth. It was quite soothing, honestly.

“Sleep now, darling, you’re exhausted. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“F’got how scary you were. Still beau’ful, though,” Crowley muttered as he shifted about, getting comfortable. Of course, the angel immediately flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Wh-What was that, my dear?”

When all the demon said in response was a soft hum, his hand stilling, Azirphale let out a heavy sigh.

The angel risked a chance to run his own hand through Crowley’s fiery hair, smoothing it away from his steadily bruising face. He continued when the demon didn’t stir, effectively petting him at that point.

Though the angel himself was _exhausted_ , for the first time in a few centuries, he refused to lie down beside Crowley (no matter how much he _longed_ to).

Aziraphale took the remaining scraps of courage still within him and sat guard. He would wait, either for Crowley to wake or for the forces of Heaven and Hell to come for them. Either way, he would wait.

 _Nothing_ would harm Crowley ever again, not if Aziraphale had anything to say about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!content warning!! hurt crowley is strong in this one my guys so expect blood and some very mild medical stuff
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed this one tho!! check out [my tumblr](http://spaceybutt.tumblr.com) if you want an influx of good omens on your dash ;)


	4. Dance Backwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! im so SORRY this took so long, but these chapters are steadily getting longer (over 5000 for this one alone!!!) and i currently work 2 jobs so that's been a fun balance 🙃
> 
> yesterday was my BIRTHDAY!! so i literally wrote the last 2000 words to get it out today!! 🎉
> 
> chapter title is from theres no way by lauv ft julia michaels
> 
> as always yall, any mistakes are mine and mine alone!

Crowley slept for a week and a half.

Aziraphale barely left his side during the first few days. He was strung as tight as a bow, his anxiety through the roof, as he waited for Heaven or Hell to come after them.

They didn’t, though, thank- _someone._

By the time the angel finally calmed down enough to roam the apartment freely, Crowley’s wounds had healed completely. Only a thin white scar was left of the gaping wound on his chest, thankfully, though he knew the demon would be cross. Having gone close to 300 years without another miraculously healed injury would leave him a bit sour now that his streak was broken. Removing scars from their corporations that were healed with divine (or occult, on occasion) powers was difficult, so it was better in the long run to leave them be.

Aziraphale was prepared to deal with his pouting and snark, only because he knew how close Crowley had come to total destruction.

In his weaker moments, Aziraphale wished he had laid waste to Hastur that day in the alley for _daring_ to harm his demon. The guilt would come rushing in, of course, even though he knew it was more than the revolting demon deserved.

He was less guilty about the righteous anger he felt towards the Archangels.

The angel didn’t know when they would come for him after the stunt he pulled with Uriel’s dagger, but he knew it would happen like he knew how he would react.

Aziraphale had chosen his side, after all, and nothing would get in his way of protecting Crowley.

\-----

The day before the Winter Solstice, Crowley finally woke up.

Aziraphale had just returned to the sparse flat after checking in at the book shop, a take out cup of tea steaming in his hand, when saw his companion shuffling out of the bedroom. He nearly dropped the cup when he saw how the demon looked.

Crowley looked like death warmed over, his skin paler than normal from being inside for so long. His hair was a right mess and he was still without a shirt, his dark boxers slung low on his hips. The late afternoon sun streamed through the picture windows of the living room, setting the entire apartment ablaze in warm golden light.

He imagined this was a glimpse of what Crowley was like before he Fell.

“‘Lo, ‘Ziraphale,” he yawned, completely oblivious to Aziraphale’s inner turmoil. The demon lurched towards him suddenly, forcing a very undignified noise out of the angel.

The paper cup was stolen from his hand as Aziraphale blushed hotly, silently cursing his racing heart to Hell and back. Crowley hummed as he sipped on the tea, grimacing comically when he swallowed.

“ _Ugh,_ you always make your tea too sweet, angel.” The demon peered at him, his amber eyes still a little foggy with sleep. His cheeks were a bit flushed, faint pillow creases marking one side of his face, _good Lord-_ “Why’re you so red? You alright?”

“It’s cold!” Aziraphale blurted out in a panic as his heart practically beat out of his chest. “Very cold, yes! Wasn’t very prepared, to be honest, those winds could sweep someone off their feet!”

Crowley scrutinized him a moment longer before appearing to accept the explanation, as inane as it was. The angel felt his ears burn as chagrin filled him, pressing a hand to his face before following the demon into the kitchen.

Propped up on the high bar stools at the island counter, Crowley sat hunched over the warm cup, the plastic lid tossed to the side. He looked about ready to fall back to sleep, despite how long he had been out already.

“How are you feeling, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as he struggled to get onto the next seat at the counter. This happened _every time,_ they were _too bloody tall-_

The demon snorted as he watched the angel wrestle himself onto the stool. “Loads better, honestly. Though I’m not really digging the new addition, if you know what I mean.” He gestured to the long scar across his chest with a sneer.

“I don’t think it’s terrible,” Aziraphale puffed, slightly out of breath from his battle with the chair. “It’s dashing, I think. Though I suppose you’re pleased that the one on your arm is gone.”

He reached over to touch the area of Crowley’s bicep where the cut had previously been. The skin there was perfect, as if nothing had happened in the first place. Non-miraculously healed injuries that befell them usually disappeared without a trace after a few days, so after taking out the stitches a day later, the demon was right as rain.

Aziraphale suddenly realized he was stroking the area where the injury had occupied and felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He glanced up at the demon, his cheeks flaming, as he stuttered out an apology. Crowley seemed a bit red himself as he bit into his bottom lip and turned his head away.

It was stiflingly quiet between them for a moment, the angel’s awkwardness growing by the second.

“Well!” Aziraphale yelped, a few octaves higher than he would’ve liked. “It’s good you woke up when you did, my dear, since Anathema’s party is tomorrow night!”

“Is it really?” Crowley sounded just like he always did, if a bit choked. The angel felt his heart drop a bit at the clear intent to dismiss what just happened. It was what he _wanted,_ of course, but…

“I can’t believe I let _Hastur,_ of all people, catch me by surprise and send me into a week long coma,” the demon lamented, almost knocking over the tea when he dropped his head into his hand dramatically.

“It was a week and a half, actually,” Aziraphale interrupted softly. He picked up the discarded cup lid to fiddle with, but mostly so he wouldn’t have to look the demon in the eyes. “A very _long_ week and a half, but only just that. It could’ve been much worse.”

Crowley was silent for a short time after that. So when a cool hand covered his own, it forced Aziraphale to look up at his companion. His eyes swam with regret and fondness and- something else the angel couldn’t name.

“I am sorry, Aziraphale, for putting you through that,” the demon said equally softly. “But I’m just as glad that you were there. I don’t think any other angel could’ve scared Hastur so completely.”

Aziraphale smiled at the demon’s grin, patting his hand gently and, after a second of hesitation, dared to leave it there. “I’m glad I was there too, dear. Now, let’s head to the parlour to wrap these presents before tomorrow finds us. I waited for you.”

Crowley’s smile widened as his eyes sparkled with mischief, the sheer _beauty_ of him making the angel lose his breath. Before he knew it, the demon had taken off towards the living room, where the presents had been piled high when the angel had nothing better to do.

Aziraphale found his lost breath and heaved a sigh, following after his demon. Crowley was going to be the death of him, he was sure.

\-----

The following morning was hectic, to say the least. They had both fallen asleep on the living room rug, empty wine glasses knocked over and bits of wrapping paper strewn about. Aziraphale had been so relieved to have his friend back that the exhaustion that had plagued him from the day in the alley caught up, knocking him unconscious for the first time in a few decades after a glass too many. All of the presents had to be piled into the back of the Bentley, completely blocking the rear window, to Aziraphale’s distress.

Crowley had reassured him (“It’ll be _fine,_ angel, I’ve been driving since they _invented_ the car!”) but the angel wasn’t convinced.

They were on the road shortly after, though not before coming to a sort of compromise to keep them both sane during the trip. The music would be a touch louder than Aziraphale liked it, while Crowley drove a few notches slower than he preferred (if only to protect his leather armrests from the angel’s whiteknuckled grip).

Once they left London proper, the scenery flew by. The rolling green hills that usually surrounded the road were covered in powdery snow. It was almost blindingly white in the midmorning sun, making everything feel like a storybook.

It was _peaceful,_ in a way their lives hadn’t been since moving to London all those centuries ago. The complete absence of towering buildings, the smell of the streets, and the ever present aura of so _many_ people in one place was staggering compared to the open, quiet hills of the country.

Aziraphale’s thoughts aimlessly drifted during the ride. Crowley was surprisingly silent, only humming idly along with the long standing Queen tape. Before they knew it, the small sign for Tadfield village was upon them and they were rolling down the ancient cobbled streets.

Jasmine Cottage was as lovely as ever, even in the dead of winter. The expected greenery that surrounded the house was replaced with bare branches and copious amounts of snow. A large evergreen wreath, strung with holly, sprigs of rosemary, and white ribbon, hung on the front door. It sang of home: a warm meal, fire in the hearth, a good conversation deep into the night.

A group of bicycles were haphazardly piled by the front gate. The beginnings of a snowman stood off in the garden, where two heavily clothed figures were pushing the vague approximation of the head. The other two children in the garden were engaged in what looked to be a snowball fight to the death. A scream of laughter was heard as snow was pushed down the back of a coat.

Aziraphale smiled, catching Crowley’s eye across the center console as they pulled up to park. The demon had his own smile, a touch fonder than his own. He always knew Crowley had a soft spot for children, but it was especially tender for this group.

A chorus of “Mr. Crowley! Mr. Zira!” erupted as they clambered out of the Bentley. The two beings were almost tossed into the snow when the Them made impact, their hugs tight enough combined to knock the wind out of them.

“Hello, children!” wheezed Aziraphale, grinning widely through the pain. His hands came up to pat the two heads closest to him, which happened to be Pepper and Wensleydale. He heard Crowley issue a similar greeting to Adam and Brian, who had clung just as tightly to the demon. “Would you mind releasing me? Getting a tad hard to breathe, you see.”

“Actually,” Wensleydale started, causing Pepper to groan next to him. Thankfully, they let go of the angel before the boy got started on his expected commentary. “If you were _really_ asphyxiating, your body would prioritize getting air into your lungs before speaking, so if you can talk you have plenty of air.”

“That’s fascinating, my boy,” Aziraphale tugged the boy’s hat down his forehead, eliciting a giggle. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I find myself struggling for air.”

Pepper snorted. “You’re an _angel,_ Mr. Zira, it’s not like you _need_ to breathe anyway.”

“Well, when you’ve up kept a habit for close to 6,000 years, it’s hard to break.”

“Quite right on that, angel,” Crowley smirked at him, causing the angel to roll his eyes back. “How’s things inside, Adam? Christmas in full swing and whatnot?”

“O _h,_ don’t call it Christmas, _please,_ ” Brian begged. The other children nodded solemnly around him, looking far too haunted. “Anathema will be _very_ cross if you call it Christmas.”

“He’s right, you know,” called the woman in question, startling everyone gathered in the front garden. She smirked at them from her position of leaning against one of the posts by the door, appearing quite pleased with herself. Her long, dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, curls spilling about freely, as her sweater-clad shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Now, come inside before you all freeze to death. Don’t think I didn’t see you shove snow down Pepper’s jacket, Brian.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks before ushering the children indoors. The presents that had taken over the backseat of the Bentley were miraculously placed under the modest size pine tree in the front room, but who could really tell how they got there?

Anathema and Newton had really outdone themselves, though the angel had nothing to base it against. The cottage was warm and homey, the smell of cooking meat and vegetables mixing pleasantly with the burning fire in the hearth. Boughs of evergreen and vines of ivy braided with red or white ribbon consisted of most of the decorations, though Aziraphale warily eyed the sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway of the living room; he would have to keep himself on his toes not to get caught under it.

“Wow,” remarked Crowley, peering above his glasses at the decorations. His eye seemed to have caught on the mistletoe, too. “Looks great.”

“Oh, Newt actually did most of the decorating,” Anathema called from the kitchen, where the children had followed after shedding their outerwear at the door. Aziraphale knew the demon well enough to know he rolled his eyes at their mess before snapping his fingers, all of the coats hung up and the snow boots neatly lined against the wall. Their own coats were also magically off them and onto the hooks on the walls. Chuckling, the angel led him after the group and into the _very_ messy kitchen.

Bowls were strewn about the counters, spoons abandoned in their own sticky mess, flour dusted almost _everything_ in sight, and there was Newton, standing at the stove with a spatula and a grin for the newcomers. “So glad you two could make it, considering London is so far.”

“Pah,” Crowley scoffed dramatically, prompting a round of giggles from the children and a fond smile from the angel beside him. “Nothing is too far for the Bentley, Newton.”

“Newt, please, Mr. Fell.”

“Then it’s Crowley to you, Newt,” The two shook hands, all very manly like. Aziraphale had to stifle a laugh.

“Well, now that we’ve introduced ourselves again,” Anathema rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away. “Does anyone want wine?”

Aziraphale and Crowley graciously accepted glasses, while the children were given a stern look from the witch when they asked for the same. They were each given sparkling cider instead, so there were no further complaints.

The small group drank quietly for a moment before Anathema set down her glass.

“Alright then, does anyone want to help me decorate the tree?”

Predictably, the Them jumped at the request, running and shouting their way back to the living room. The sound of something glass shattering echoed back to the adults just as the witch yelled “Don't’ run in the house!” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose under her glasses before pointing a severe finger at her boyfriend.

“We’re _not_ having children _any_ time soon.”

Newt only blinked, squeaking out a small “Yes, dear,” before the woman stormed off after the group of children.

Aziraphale grabbed the forgotten wine glass, watching as Crowley chuckled and turning Newt back to the stove firmly. Before the angel followed after Anathema, he heard his companion ask “How can you operate a stove without it exploding? I thought all machines were your enemy.”

The young man’s reply went unheard, instead drowned out by four pre-teens all loudly talking over each other. Aziraphale paused as he reached the doorway to the parlour, his smile growing as he watched this little group of humans they had claimed.

Anathema, her arms crossed tightly and her expression dark, only had to raise a hand to gain complete silence. A broken picture frame laid at her feet, the shards of glass scattered on the worn wood.

“I don’t want excuses,” she said quietly, since she had all of their attention. “I just want to know who broke it.”

A moment of stillness, the hesitance palpable in the air, before Adam stepped forward.

“I-I did, I’m sorry,” he murmured. He kept his eyes averted from hers, absolutely _radiating_ regret and shame.

Anathema crouched a bit to be on eyelevel with the boy. She caught his gaze by ducking her head, a small smile on her face. “And what have we learned from this?”

“Not to run in the house…?”

“Right!” The witch’s smile widened as she stood back up. All of the children looked confused.

“You’re- You’re not going to yell? That I broke the picture?” Adam asked. His dark eyebrows were knit together, his nose scrunching up.

Anathema just put her hands on her hips. “Of course not. You already know you did something wrong and you apologized for it, so what would yelling accomplish? I’d just hurt my throat and it’s Solstice! No one should be sad today!”

Aziraphale hid his smile behind his glass, twitching his fingers to fix the broken frame. It flew back onto the table it previously occupied, the glass perfectly intact. A beautiful picture of Tonantzin, the Native Mexican goddess, sat in the frame.

The woman glanced back at him, her smile still in place as she nodded in thanks. She turned back to the group, who were inspecting the perfectly fine picture frame. “Do you guys want to set up the candles to burn later? You can make the shape whatever you want, as long as it connects together.”

The children wholeheartedly agreed to the task, immediately getting to work on the pile of long candles on the coffee table.

The angel handed Anathema her glass of wine when she joined him by the doorway. Her smile was bright as they watched the Them argue about what sort of shape they should make.

“They’re quite the handful, eh?” Aziraphale nudged her with a grin of his own.

The woman laughed into her glass. “Yeah, but they’re good kids. They’ve been helping me get this place together on the weekends.”

“I must say, you’re quite good with them,” the angel sipped at his wine, his smile fond as Brian and Adam broke out in a candlestick sword fight. “You’ll make a _fantastic_ mother, should you choose to have any of your own.”

Anathema blushed, her smile growing wider as she looked at him. “Do you think so? Newt and I are young still, but I think I might want kids someday. Especially if they turn out like this lot.” She gestured to the children with her glass. Her eyes, hidden behind her circular glasses, were bright with emotion.

Aziraphale felt his chest tighten as he watched this young woman who he had come to admire and respect. One of his hands came up to lightly rest on her shoulder, bringing her attention back to him. “Of _course_ I do, my dear. You and Newton will make wonderful, if entertaining, parents one day. You don't need a prophecy to tell you that.” He patted her shoulder gently as she hid her grin in her wine.

“My mother would _kill_ me if I didn’t have a binding ceremony first. She’s still a little old fashioned that way.” Anathema giggled, her blush not receding the slightest. “What about you and Crowley, though? How long have you been married?”

Now it was the angel’s turn to flush in embarrassment. “Ah- Well, we’re not actually m-married.”

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? Are you two just not for it? That’s understandable.”

“W-We’re actually not… Together. Like that. Romantically.”

At that, Anathema’s brows tried to merge with her hairline. “ _Really?_ That’s honestly quite- Oh, the invitation must have confused you both, sorry about that. I just assumed-”

“No no, it’s no problem, my dear,” Aziraphale waved off her apology, desperately trying to hide his burning face in his wine glass.

He knew it was over for him when a suspicious look entered Anathema’s eye.

“So… Does he know that you’re obviously in love with him?”

Aziraphale choked on his wine, briefly drawing the attention of the children. They quickly went back to their job when they saw he was alright. The witch hadn’t taken her eyes off him, cataloguing his reaction stoically.

“I-I don’t-”

All she had to do to cut the angel off was lift one of her dark brows, in a move quite reminiscent of Crowley. A moment passed between them, a battle of wills; one that Aziraphale quickly lost with a noisy sigh.

“He… Doesn’t. Feel that way about me, you see.”

Anathema then, to the angel’s surprise, snorted in disbelief. “Are you _blind?_ He _so obviously_ looks at you like you hung the moon, Aziraphale.”

“He really does,” piped in Adam from the couch. The other three nodded vigorously behind him. “That is, if you’re talking about Mr. Crowley. Though I suppose he would be quite put out if another person looked at you like my parents look at each other. I know my dad gets huffy when guys talk to my mom like he does.”

The angel buried his burning face in his hands, the drained wine glass hanging from his fingers. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Crowley’s voice was suddenly right next to him.

“Alright then, what’s going on in here?”

The room was silent, no one was even _breathing,_ before the Them broke out into giggles.

Aziraphale raised his eyes from his hands, looking at the group of humans in confusion. Even Anathema and the freshly washed Newt were chuckling. The only one who wasn’t was Crowley, who looked just as confounded as him.

Crowley. Who was standing next to the angel. Under the living room doorway.

They both seemed to understand at the same moment, tilting their heads back to gaze at the pretty sprig of mistletoe hanging above them. Aziraphale felt his already blushing cheeks positively _ignite_ just as Crowley’s face did the same.

They blinked at each other, a moment of embarrassed hesitation passing between them, before the demon scoffed.

Aziraphale felt gentle fingers on his chin tugging him towards his companion. His own fingers tightened rather involuntarily around the delicate stem of his empty wine glass. This wasn’t how the angel imagined how their first kiss would go-

“Relax, angel,” murmured Crowley, only inches from his face. His wine-laced breath was warm where it hit Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel felt _faint,_ as he was reminded of the similar encounter they had in the former St. Beryl convent, as mortifying as that was. If the demon didn’t _do something,_ he was going to-

A soft pair of lips firmly pressed against his cheek, just beside his mouth. Crowley pulled away with a loud _‘smack!’_ which caused the children to start laughing again. The demon looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Did you lot _really_ think I’d give you a free show?”

The front door opened behind them suddenly, allowing the figures of Shadwell and Madame Tracey in from the cold. The two newcomers hadn’t immediately noticed the gathering, as Shadwell was complaining about something or other in his rough brogue.

When they did notice the group, all staring at the two red faced supernatural beings, Madame Tracey only quirked a smile while her companion looked at them in confusion. “Ay, what’s all this, then? Yer waitin’ for a photo or what?”

\-----

The rest of the evening passed rather comfortably after that. Wine and tea were given to the older couple and presents were passed around. The group of children gathered the most, of course, but everyone got at least one present from their otherworldly friends.

Anathema in particular was delighted by the ancient pagan books Aziraphale had gifted her, swearing to keep them safe and preserved under her care. The talisman Crowley gave her and Newt to protect the cottage against anyone who wished to do them harm was also greeted with equal enthusiasm.

Aziraphale had to nudge the demon with a grin for that one. Crowley only responded with a huff, his cheeks coloring as he muttered about “necessary precautions.”

Dinner was marvelous, though a bit pedestrian by the angel’s usual standards. Newt had turned out to be a very proficient cook, though the amount of compliments he received turned him bashful. The wine flowed as much as the laughter did, smaller pairs or groups having several conversations at once.

They continued to drink, popping open the bottle of champagne that Madame Tracey had brought around sunset. Someone had put on music at some point, soft guitar and piano mixing together to create a cozy atmosphere, though Aziraphale couldn’t tell who did to save his life.

He was comfortably chatting with Anathema and Madame Tracey in the living room when he saw Crowley flapping his arms around in a strange dance with the children. Adam and Pepper were the best at the dance, from what the angel could tell, though Wensleydale and Brian were nowhere _near_ as bad as Crowley.

Aziraphale snorted into his half empty glass. “C-Crowley, dear, what on earth are you doing?”

“It’s called a ‘flosser!’” The demon was grinning widely, his glasses abandoned at some point in the evening, allowing his slitted eyes to sparkle with amusement.

Pepper sniggered as the boys groaned around her. “It’s not _‘flosser,’_ Mr. Crowley! It’s ‘flossing!’”

The group on the couch devolved into giggles as Crowley dramatically rolled his eyes, his hips still swinging out of time with his arms and making him look quite foolish. The children continued to perform their strange dance when the demon broke off from the line, tossing himself inelegantly to sit at Aziraphale’s feet. His back was warm and solid against the angel’s shins.

Aziraphale quickly found his glass emptied.

The music on the radio changed just as the Them abandoned their dance in lieu of playing their half finished board game. Crowley, who the angel assumed had fallen asleep since he hadn’t moved in a bit, perked up as a gentle guitar sounded through the machine. He tilted his head back with a wicked grin, essentially planting it in Aziraphale’s lap.

“Want to show them _real_ dancing, angel?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blinked in surprise, a little woozy from the amount of glasses he had emptied during the visit. “I don’t th-think I’ll be up to a gavotte currently, dear. Think I might’ve had a tad too much.” He wiggled his glass with a smile, making Anathema and Madame Tracey laugh next to him.

Crowley rolled his eyes as he stood, taking the still wiggling glass from the angel’s hands. “That’s not dancing, Aziraphale, _no one_ wants to see that.” It was quickly passed off to one of the women and suddenly the angel was pulled to his feet.

He stumbled a bit on the rug, firm hands holding onto his arms and keeping him upright. Crowley smirked at him as they stood in the middle of the room. “C’mon now, angel, you never let me teach you the waltz in the 17th century! You owe me!”

“I don’t believe there’s enough room for a waltz, Crowley,” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the demon, trying to hold in his laughter at the silly excuse. He knew how much Crowley enjoyed dancing, making up crazier and more inappropriate dance trends as the centuries went on just to get a laugh. “Not quite a ballroom in Versailles, I’m afraid.”

“We’ll make due,” the demon nodded decisively, already reaching for the angel’s waist.

Aziraphale suddenly realised how _bad_ of an idea this was.

“Ah- Well- I can’t really dance, you see,” he stuttered out as one of his hands was captured in Crowley’s own. The demon only stared at him blankly, looking unimpressed. Aziraphale held out for a moment, trying to convince him to let it _go,_ before sighing and giving in.

Crowley’s shoulder was firm under his hand, the angel couldn’t help but notice. He tried to hide his warm face by staring at their feet.

The demon spun them in a slow, easy box step, murmuring encouragement as they went. Aziraphale eventually gained confidence after not stepping on his partner’s foot, allowing Crowley to speed up the dance to match the music.

Anathema and Newt joined them after a few minutes, spinning around in circles and laughing instead of actually dancing the waltz. Madame Tracey could be heard trying to convince Shadwell to dance, to no avail. Soon, though, the older woman was led in by Adam, making everyone smile.

The ethereal and occult pair eventually slowed their dance, only rocking in a slow circle in one spot. They had moved quite close together and Aziraphale, in all his tipsy brilliance, had rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder. He was very comfortable, if a bit bony.

“This is nice,” the angel sighed, his eyes closed. He felt more than heard the demon chuckle.

“It is,” he agreed. His voice was softer than normal, a touch deeper. Aziraphale quite liked it. “And we could’ve been doing it this whole time, too.”

Aziraphale hummed. The combination of the alcohol, the slow dance, and Crowley’s warmth was lulling him to sleep, so he chalked up the kiss he felt on his brow to his impending dreams.

“I think it’s time to go, darling,” the demon whispered. They had stopped dancing, standing in the living room wrapped up in each other. The angel hummed again, already half asleep in Crowley’s arms.

He heard a soft laugh as an arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him along. Murmured voices surrounded Aziraphale as he was moved through the cottage, his steps stumbling and clunky.

He woke a bit more when a blast of cold air hit him square in the face. They had gotten outside, his coat somehow on without his input. The full moon above them provided ample light to see, though they didn’t really need it. The snow shined in the light, making everything else seem washed out in comparison. It was quite beautiful, even the half asleep angel could recognize that.

Crowley helped him get into the Bentley, actually lifting his feet into the car when Aziraphale forgot to.

“Honestly, angel, I can’t take you anywhere,” he joked, his breath coming out in little puffs of steam. His skin was white in the moonlight, glowing like the snow that surrounded them. _He's quite beautiful, isn't he,_ thought the angel distantly.

The demon started to move back to close the door when Aziraphale reached for him.

“We should stay,” the angel muttered.

“What? Stay? You’re about to pass out.”

“Hmm, no, not _stay_ stay, but get out of the city.”

Crowley was silent, causing Aziraphale to pry his eyes open (when did they close?) to see what was wrong. He was just standing there, the angel’s hand still on his wrist, looking- hopeful? Confused? Oh, he was too _tired_ for subtlety.

“I’m _asking_ you to run away to the country with me, Crowley.” Aziraphale grinned sleepily at him, his eyes already sliding shut again. The angel felt his hand taken off Crowley and tucked gently into his lap. He was drifting off again when he felt something brush against his cheek, almost lovingly, and a sigh.

The door was shut and the driver’s side opened, the engine rumbling to life under them. The cab was immediately filled with heated air, forcing the angel to fall further into sleep.

Before succumbing totally to his dreams, Aziraphale _swore_ he felt fingers lace through his own and another soft sigh from beside him.

The angel was asleep before he knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anyone else SO FRUSTRATED by these two?! im literally in control of the narrative and i want to TEAR MY HAIR OUT UGH
> 
> only 2 more chapters holy shit!!!
> 
> come visit [my tumblr](http://spaceybutt.tumblr.com) if you want more yelling about these two dummies 😘


	5. Feels Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back!! 🎉🎉
> 
> ive been dogsitting for my sister while she's been on a camping trip, so i havent had much time to write in the past couple weeks while juggling her puppy and my own three dogs 😓 she just got back today so i busted out the last 1500 words to finish this!! 
> 
> chapter title is from like a prayer by madonna
> 
> any mistakes are mine and mine alone!

Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t talk about what happened at Solstice.

The week following passed normally, though, with both of them basically joined at the hip. New Year’s Eve found the two otherworldly beings once again in Aziraphale’s flat. Twin flutes of champagne clinked as the newscaster on the telly counted down to midnight along with the rest of London. Fireworks exploded in the sky, the Thames far enough away that the eruption of cheers wasn’t deafening.

Aziraphale wished he was brave enough to set their glasses on the coffee table, take Crowley’s face in his hands, and steal a kiss from the demon that he had loved for millennia. He wished he was brave enough to talk about his feelings, openly and genuinely, without the fear of being rejected. He wished he _knew_ Crowley returned his feelings, that the demon loved him just as fiercely.

He wasn’t brave, though. At least, not brave enough to do as he wished.

Instead, the angel laced his fingers with Crowley’s free hand. He smiled at the demon’s surprised look, his eyes uncovered for once. The fireworks booming outside the window lit the sky with a kaleidoscope of color, bathing the room with light and haloing around Crowley’s copper hair.

It always hit Aziraphale at the most inopportune times, just how much he loved Crowley.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, _begging_ to come out. The angel choked them back with a shaky breath. Rather, he raised their entwined hands and kissed the demon’s knuckles softly.

“Happy New Year, Crowley.”

Crowley was frozen where he sat, his surprised look shifting into one of astonishment before mellowing out into something softer, almost like fondness but… Different. Warmer.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

\-----

Winter had eventually melted into spring, helped along by the dreary rain that London was known for. Aziraphale stood at the front window of the shop, the tea on the small table next to him long gone cold, as Crowley made a nuisance of himself. A record the demon had put on played softly from the gramophone on the counter.

“I think we should get out of here,” Aziraphale spit out suddenly, spinning to stare apprehensively at Crowley. The demon looked up, the paper tower he had constructed out of the angel’s record-keeping index cards collapsing immediately.

“Okay,” he drawled, an eyebrow raising in question as he stood up from his previously hunched position over the cards. “Where would you like to go, angel? I’m sure the Ritz can squeeze us in, since a table for two just opened up.”

Aziraphale only made a sort of frantic noise through his nose. His hands fluttered uselessly by his sides, clenching and unclenching with anxiety. “No- I-”

“Hey, alright, calm down, Aziraphale,” Crowley quickly rounded the counter to stand in front of the angel. He gripped his arms firmly, golden eyes glinting in concern over dark glasses. “What’s wrong?”

The angel sighed noisily, steeling himself to force the words out. “I think,” he choked out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before continuing. “We should leave. London, that is.”

Crowley’s brows raised to his hairline, blinking at him over his lowered glasses. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me, Crowley! Don’t make me say it again!”

“Yes, I _heard_ you, angel, but I’m not _processing_ it!” The demon pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his forehead, releasing the angel and completely uncovering his bewildered eyes. “You love London, your bookshop is here, _why_ would you want to leave?”

Aziraphale fiddled with his pocket watch, intent on not meeting Crowley’s gaze. A quick glance at the demon, though, only revealed questioning amber eyes.

“Well, it’s dangerous to live here right now, Crowley,” the angel began haltingly, eyes firmly planted on Crowley’s leather shoes. They were quite nice, though he imagined the demon had just wished them into existence instead of buying them at a shop. “Heaven and Hell know _exactly_ where we are, because we haven’t done anything _different_ in so long. They could come at any time, be that tomorrow or ten years from now! I-I don’t want them to hurt you again.” Aziraphale finally raised his head to smile at the demon, trying not to let this flash of bravery fizzle out too quickly. “I also recall asking you to run away with me during the Winter Solstice.”

It was silent a moment, every second making the angel’s anxiety grow, before Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale’s smile dropped, nonplussed at the demon’s amusement. His shoes really _were_ quite fascinating, a second look wouldn’t hurt. “That’s really not necessary, Crowley. A simple ‘no’ would’ve-”

“No!” Crowley wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “No, angel, I very much _do._ ”

The angel blinked. The swirl of rejection and hurt that had started to form in his heart dissipated as he met the demon’s eyes. “You do? Really?”

Crowley, his lips still twitching with amusement, shook his head at the angel’s confused expression. “Of _course_ I do, Aziraphale. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Aziraphale felt like he was both sinking and flying at the same time, his entire being floating as his heart clenched painfully.

“The fact you thought otherwise is hurtful and, frankly, unbecoming of you,” the demon continued after a moment, dramatically placed a hand over his ‘wounded’ heart, his face a picture of over-the-top sorrow. Aziraphale grinned at his antics, his relief almost palpable.

“Well- good!” The angel sniffed, trying to hold back his smile. “It would be a pity if you had disagreed, after all. You would be missing out on some superb tea making skills.”

“I rather think I would be missing out on a lot more than that, angel.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat as met Crowley’s eyes, the demon’s own expression so _soft_ that it sent the angel’s heart into double time. He bustled off to the tea service he had set out earlier, already talking a mile a minute in an effort to hide how flustered he was.

_‘He’s going to be the end of me,’_ thought Aziraphale as he watched Crowley jump up to sit on the front counter, index cards fluttering into a semi-neat pile as the demon tried to convince him that a castle would be _perfect_ instead of some lowly house. The angel could only smile into his fresh tea, the pot steaming again with only a thought, and jump into the playful debate. _‘Not a bad way to go, though, is it?’_

\-----

It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. Well, not long after Aziraphale started dropping hints with newspaper clippings of houses placed where the demon was likely to find them. Hung on the front door of the shop, taped to the windshield of the Bentley, even on the demon’s pillow in his flat. It took a pile being dropped on his face while napping on the tattered couch in the back room for Crowley to get fed up and drag the angel out to look at properties.

The cottage they had decided to look at first was _beautiful_. The stone walls were covered in climbing ivy and a plethora of other blooming fauna surrounding the perimeter, making it resemble something out of a fairy tale. It stood on a cliff, a sheer drop only a few dozen feet from the edge of the property’s fence that opened up to the expanse of the churning ocean around them. The sea air was brisk, but rejuvenating to Aziraphalel. It was _so different_ to London, so _new_.

(Well, not _new_ , exactly. He _had_ lived by the Roman coast during his visit in 41 AD, if only briefly. But that was neither here nor there!)

After a moment, though, the angel started to notice little things about the cottage. It had the air of being abandoned for a _long_ while. The front garden was overgrown, wild and forest like. The stacked stone wall that surrounded the property was covered in moss and falling apart, entire sections laying defeated on the ground. The wrought iron gate was almost completely rusted over and barely hanging on by a hinge. And that wasn’t even touching on what the situation inside might have in store for them.

“ _This_ place, angel?” Crowley turned to him, his disdain evident despite the ever present sunglasses. “It’s a dump!”

“It has… Character!” Aziraphale blustered. “ _Really_ , my dear, just give it a chance!”

The demon only groaned theaterically, drawing the attention of the real estate agent standing by the worn front door. The woman smiled genially at them as the two of them approached.

“Gentlemen!” She shook their hands in turn, her grin deepening the small wrinkles by her eyes. “I’m Danielle Rochette, the realtor for this property, but you can just call me Ellie. You must be Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley!”

Aziraphale returned her enthusiastic handshake, already liking this human. “Yes, I’m Ezra Fell and this is-”

“Anthony Crowley,” the demon cut in smoothly. His smirk disappeared for a moment as he kissed the back of the woman’s hand, causing her to let out a dreamy little _“Oh!”_

Crowley yelped his own _“Oh!”_ when Aziraphale viciously pinched the back of his arm once he released the poor woman, the angel’s polite smile still in place. Crowley could only grumble and rub the attacked spot as the other two chatted idly.

They soon entered the cottage, the air a bit stale and dusty. Aziraphale had to hold in a sneeze when the door swung shut behind them. They had entered into what was probably the living room, which then led directly into the outdated kitchen at the back of the house. A hallway to the left of the front door held three doors along the same wall and was equally covered in cobwebs. The sparse furniture left behind by the previous tenant was either worn down or broken into pieces on the floor.

It was dreary and in desperate need of a good cleaning, and Aziraphale _loved_ it.

“Listen, I know it looks bad right now,” cautioned Ellie, her nose wrinkling a bit. “But I think it would be back in tip top shape with a bit of paint, a mop, and some new furniture!”

“Oh, that would be no problem,” Aziraphale smiled, winking at Crowley with absolutely _no_ subtlety. The demon snorted inelegantly as the realtor looked between them with a confused smile. She cleared her throat a moment later, launching into her pitch for the house. The angel nodded along, making affirming noises at the right places, but his mind was as far as it could be from the conversation.

The cottage really was what they were looking for. Aziraphale could easily picture how the place would look if they moved in; how the floorboards would gleam when they were cleaned, the fireplace cleaned out and a log crackling happily away inside, cozy blankets and throw pillows piled on the new sofa. The both of them cooking together in the remodeled kitchen, Aziraphale sneaking tastes of whatever was on the stove while Crowley halfheartedly threatened him with a wooden spoon, soft music from the gramophone enveloping them with the sense of _home_.

A hand on his startled Aziraphale out of his fantasy. He blinked, seeing the cottage as it actually was again. An ache started up in the region of his unneeded heart at the loss of his daydream, as sweet as it was.

Crowley had moved closer when he wasn’t paying attention, the demon’s hand slightly cooler where it was wrapped around his own. “You alright, Aziraphale?”

“Of course, darling,” the angel sighed, patting Crowley’s hand lightly before pulling away with a wistful smile. “Absolutely tickety-boo.”

The demon only raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to Ellie. The realtor had moved on to the kitchen, still going on about various facts about the property without noticing their little aside. They moved to the hallway at the front of the house soon after, disturbing the dust as they went.

The hall itself was dim, making it feel smaller than it actually was. Granted, the two windows were covered with the climbing ivy on the front of the house, allowing in barely any light.

“Now,” Ellie stopped at the last door in the hall, grinning cheekily. “We’re going to leave the best for last, so stay with me, yeah?”

When the two of them bewilderedly nodded assent, she led them into what could only be the bedroom. The same dark flooring was continued in there, making the chipping plaster walls seem brighter with the sun shining through the large windows. It was of a decent size, obviously remodeled at some point in its history.

“This is the master suit, since this a one bedroom property, but I think it’s perfectly fine for two gents such as yourselves.” Ellie stood by the door with a smile, allowing them to take their fill of the room.

Her words caught up with Aziraphale a moment later, setting his face aflame. He hadn’t even _thought_ of the sleeping situation, since he rarely partook in the activity. He _also_ hadn’t thought how it would look for two men to be buying a _one bedroom_ house together.

As he tried to nervously correct her, though, Crowley only sidled up next to him and wrap an arm around his waist. It was very effective in stopping his witless stammering, at the very least.

“Well, _I_ think it’s perfect for what we’re going for. Don’t you, angel?” The demon’s smile was positively saccharine, his voice like candied honey. The thread of teasing amusement was hard to miss, too.

“I-I mean- Well, yes, of course-”

Ellie had a hand covering her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile, though her laughter was a bit harder to conceal. She led them out of the room, Aziraphale’s face still dreadfully warm. Crowley had released him, thankfully, as they came up to the next door in the hall.

This one opened into a _terribly_ outdated bathroom. Salmon colored tiles covered the walls, while aquamarine tiles of a different size made up the floor. It made the small room feel even more confined. Even the angel couldn’t stop himself from grimacing as he looked in horror. The only saving grace (no pun intended) was the large white clawfoot tub that dominated the space.

“There’s no windows,” commented Crowley, his eyebrows making a break for his hairline as he looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder in disgusted awe.

Ellie, on the other hand, only grinned mischievously at them. “That’s where the best is saved for last.” She ushered them back into the hall before gesturing to the door nearest the entrance to the hall. “I know you were looking for an office to store your books, Mr. Fell. I think you’ll rather fancy this room.”

The two otherworldly beings glanced at each other, equally perplexed, before the angel turned the knob. For a few moments, he could only stare in wonder.

The room opened into a short hall spanning the length of the bathroom, floor to ceiling shelves running along the right wall. It opened up to a fairly large room, about half the size of the bedroom, with the other two walls covered in the same shelves.

The back wall, however, was almost entirely comprised of glass. A set of glass double doors at the center led out into a sunroom at the back of the house, very reminiscent of a greenhouse. The view was facing the back garden, which was closed off with more of the collapsing rock wall. After that was the cliff behind the property, with the rolling ocean right beyond it all the way to the horizon. It was _breathtaking_.

“Oh my,” breathed the angel, utterly overcome with emotion as he looked around at all the empty shelves. The windows let in an enormous amount of light, making the room feel open and airy and _perfect_.

“The current owners put that in around seven years ago,” Ellie said brightly. She opened up the glass doors to allow them into the sunroom. “Trying to make it more interesting, I reckon.”

Crowley gently led him through the sunroom and out to the back garden. The salty air hit him with the force of a blow, effectively breaking the trance the office had placed on him. The sun had finally broken free from the cloud cover, warming the small group as they stood in the overgrown grass. Aziraphale, still amazed by the view, felt something brush his hand softly. Without even thinking about it, the angel wrapped his hand around Crowley’s, trying to ignore how his heartbeat kicked up a notch at the simple touch.

“I’m going to be frank with you, if I may,” Ellie started slowly, her red painted mouth turned down. The wind whipped her chestnut hair around her face, pulling it from its previously tidy bun. “The previous owner died some time ago. Her husband had passed years before her, so she was alone when she finally followed him. Their sons live in the city and want nothing to do with the property, hence why it’s in such disrepair. I’ve been the agent for this place since I started selling real estate, probably some 10 years ago now, though no one has been keen to fix this place up like it should be.”

Aziraphale hummed. A glance at Crowley emboldened him when the demon smirked and shrugged fluidly, the creaking of his leather jacket almost lost in the wind. “Well, I think we’re _very_ keen. Cleaning this place up shouldn’t take too much time, and our godson and his friends would love to play at the beach during the summers.” The angel smiled brightly at the woman, who mirrored his grin.

“Fantastic! Let’s see to some paperwork, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i wrote this chapter about 4 times before settling with this lmAo
> 
> the next one is the LAST ONE tho!!! im kinda sad tbh 😭
> 
> come yell at me on [tumblr](http://spaceybutt.tumblr.com) if ur feelin it ;)


	6. Please Stay A While

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK! 🎉🎉🎉
> 
> so after procrastinating on this for literally over a month, i decided to sit down and bang out the last 1000 words. i REALLY didnt want to end it, but everything has to end, eh? sorry for making everyone wait while i cried about finishing my first multi chapter fic 😭
> 
> but this is it, guys! the final chapter! im so happy to have finally got here, and i hope you like my conclusion to all this nonsense!! 💛💛💛
> 
> this is the longest chapter in the entire series, sitting at over 8300 WORDS!! im SHOOK
> 
> chapter title is from you and i by queen (of course i had to use a queen song, im nothing if not a walking cliché 😘)

Summer was in full swing by the time Crowley and Aziraphale were finally settled in their cottage.

They had quickly fallen into a routine in the weeks after they officially moved in. Every morning, Crowley would come stumbling out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where a pot of coffee was waiting for him. Aziraphale, his own cup of tea steaming on the counter, would try to make breakfast before the demon eventually took over, grumbling the entire time. They would spend the morning together, a salty ocean breeze coming through the open kitchen window as the rest of the world joined them.

The two would eventually separate to do their own things; Crowley, once fully dressed with his large sun hat and gardening gloves in place, would head outside to wrestle with their finicky garden. The fauna there were opinionated and stubborn, apparently, as they had yet to be cowed like Crowley’s other plants. Aziraphale would either retire to his study to write or read, or he would take a stroll down to the nearby village to stock up on necessities or just to chat with the townspeople.

Though the walk was long and their closest neighbors lived right outside the village, Aziraphale enjoyed his outings. They were peaceful, where he could just let his thoughts wander aimlessly as his feet steadily took him where he needed to go.

Crowley would sometimes join him on his walks, especially when he got frustrated with the plants. Aziraphale always made sure to make the demon laugh or smile extra hard on those days. They would chat about everything and nothing all at once, their shoulders bumping together every other step. On the way home (and how _home_ still sent a thrill through the angel when he thought about it), they would argue about silly things, like their dinner plans or if the almost constant stream of _Golden Girls_ on the telly was _really_ necessary.

The two of them had spent a good week and a half cleaning out the house and filling it with things they both would enjoy. An eclectic mix of their styles dominated the living area, like the large potted fern that sat next to the squashy armchair by the door. Almost every available surface had at least one book on it, piled into short towers on the coffee table and around the flatscreen television the demon had snuck into the parlour when Aziraphale wasn’t looking.

Instead of miracling everything, though, they actually _bought_ things to fill the cottage with. They hired carpenters and contractors from the nearby village to update their home. Crowley even started tidying up the garden _by hand,_ to the angel’s astonishment. Granted, the demon gave up on that about a day after he started, angrily snapping away any weeds he saw on sight, but it was the thought that counted.

They had even hung a few photos on the walls- well, Crowley had mostly done that, since he was the one who took pictures all the time. It was a new hobby, one he protested was even _really_ a hobby because they were all taken from his phone. One of the Them hung near the fireplace, all of the children caught laughing at something behind the camera. Another of Anathema and Newton sat on a pile of books on one of the end tables, Newton making a ridiculous face while the witch looked on lovingly.

There was even one of Madam Tracy and Shadwell, slightly blurry and candid, in the hall between the bathroom and the study. The Sergeant's livid expression juxtaposed with Madam Tracy’s own amused one made it an entertaining one to look at, to say the least.

A few framed pictures of the pair of them dotted the cottage, all silly selfies taken by the demon when Aziraphale wasn’t paying attention. The angel was caught off guard in a couple, making them a bit blurrier than the others, though Crowley always had the same smug smirk in all of them.

Aziraphale’s favorite, though, was one of Crowley in the garden. He had taken it himself, he was proud to say, on the demon’s vexing smartphone when Crowley wasn’t paying attention. Decked out in his gardening regalia, Crowley was kneeling in the dirt, the sun shining brightly and the blue sky stretched out above him. A soft, contented smile was on his face as he spoke to the plants and the bees, almost not captured due to the angle of the photo. It made Aziraphale’s chest ache in the _best_ way just a little more every time he looked at it, even when the demon in question would whinge when he caught Aziraphale doing so.

Sometimes they would head down the winding footpath to the beach, a large blanket and wicker picnic basket in hand, and spend the day in the sun. Crowley, slowly becoming frecklier the more they went out, had taken to searching for little treasures in the water while Aziraphale lounged in the shade with an assortment of snacks and a good book. They would eventually wander back home, warm and tired and a bit sunburnt, the sun setting the sky ablaze in pinks and purples as it slowly made its descent.

It was all so _domestic_.

And not that it was a _bad_ thing, mind you; Aziraphale was _thrilled_ that Crowley had taken to country life as readily as he had!

The angel just hadn’t imagined how _unprepared_ he was to see Crowley so unguarded.

Every time the demon smiled freely, every unburdened laugh and casual touch and teasingly sarcastic quip had Aziraphale feeling like his chest wasn’t big enough for both his organs and the tight, shining feeling that swelled inside him when Crowley did something endearing.

He knew he had to be _radiating_ love every moment he spent with Crowley. He had been banned from the garden, in fact, for making one of the demon’s plants spontaneously bloom flowers when Crowley laughed at a silly joke Aziraphale told him.

Aziraphale would burn every book he owned, fight Heaven and Hell combined with only a _spoon_ if Crowley asked him to, just to see him smile and laugh and be happy.

Not that the demon needed to _know_ that, of course.

\-----

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, the sky above an endless blue and the heat staved off by the cool breeze coming off the ocean. Birds sang in the trees, wildflowers dotted the grass, and the cry of the seagulls echoed in the air. It was a perfect day.

Though, to be fair, they had all been that way since moving to South Downs.

Aziraphale had journeyed into town alone on that particular day, Crowley staying back with dark mutterings about his plants. Some neighbors (if the closest house being over four kilometers away counted as _neighborly_ ) had stopped by the day before, armed with home baked goods and not very subtle intentions to check out the new, _strange_ occupants of the old cottage. One of the women in the welcome wagon, Mrs. Turner of Horsham Road, was particularly critical of Crowley’s garden.

Apparently, at least according to the much nicer Mrs. Hobbs of Kneading Lane, Mrs. Turner was the winner of the village’s Bloom Contest four years running and was vicious to her competition. Mr. Lewis of Sycamore Court had won five years previous, Mrs. Hobbs gossiped between bites of shortbread biscuit, but his garden had been ravaged by pests the night before the Bloom Contest, making Mrs. Turner the winner. The man in question, Mr. Lewis, had nodded mournfully into his own biscuit, crumbs dotting his thick beard.

Crowley had seemed to take the mean-spirited criticism to heart, unfortunately. He had been covered in soil up to his elbows when Aziraphale had left, barely acknowledging the angel between bursts of yelling disparaging insults at the plants.

Nevertheless, the day was beautiful and Aziraphale was happy enough to walk into town alone. He was just entering the village square, pondering on when he should head into London to check on his bookshop, when he was jostled from his thoughts by another body colliding into his own.

“Oh goodness, pardon me!”

“No no, all my fault, dearie!”

A moment passed before the recognition set in. Her hair was still in the same natural style he saw it last, the silver curls dancing in the slight breeze. Her dress was a lovely shade of yellow, matching the childishly painted flowers on her cane. Her smile was as warm as he remembered, wrinkles deepening the most around her mouth and eyes as she, too, recognized him.

“You’re that lovely bookshop owner! The one from London!”

“And you’re the delightful customer with the grandson! How is he, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The older woman took his hand between hers, her skin still as soft as he recalled. “Oh, Trevor is doing wonderfully, my boy. He’s crawling everywhere he can and driving his Mum mad. He loves the book I bought from you, I might add!”

Aziraphale chuckled, his other hand covering the woman’s. “That fantastic! I’m so glad you two are enjoying it. I don’t normally sell my books to just anyone, but I could tell it would go to a marvellous home with you.”

She smiled wider, her circular glasses slipping a bit down her nose. “Oh, where are my manners! Sylvia Pearce, but my friends call me Sylvie. I do hope you call me Sylvie, dear.” The woman- Sylvie squeezed his hand between her own, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman her age.

“Ezra Fell, my dear lady.” The angel could only mirror her grin, his excitement plain to see. They both retired to the village’s small cafe to chat, the outdoor seats warmed from the sun. “How strange it is to meet you here, Sylvie! Do you live around here?”

“Yes, I do! I’m right over on Sycamore Court, over the hill and a few minutes from the dairy farm.”

“Oh, do you know a Mr. Lewis? I met him just yesterday and he said he lived on the same road.”

“That’ll be Michael, such a sweet lad. He’s on the planning committee with me, always brings home baked biscuits to meetings. His wife Anna can’t bake to save her life, bless her, but she makes a mean roast!” Sylvie snorted, causing Aziraphale to let out a small chuckle. “But you, my boy! What’re you doing here, out in the country?”

Aziraphale beamed. He only ever really talked with Crowley, so having someone else ask after him in a genuine way was refreshing. “Well, I’ve moved out here! Into that little cottage on the cliff. We decided to take a break from the city, relax a little.”

Sylvie, the sly cat she was, immediately caught on to his wording. “What’s this ‘we’, eh? _Surely_ you don’t mean your handsome young man came with you?”

“His name is _Anthony,_ ” Crowley’s human name still got stuck in his mouth at times, due to how rarely the angel used it. “And _yes,_ he’s come with me. Probably still in the garden, I can imagine.”

Sylvie squealed, suddenly decades younger in her enthusiasm. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, dear! I knew you two were in love from the second I clocked you!”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks promptly flush redhot. “Ah- Well- It’s not-” He sighed noisily, averting his eyes from Sylvie’s instantly suspicious gaze. “We’re not- Together, like that. He just wanted to get away from the city, I reckon, and figured he would come with me since we’re friends. He doesn’t- He doesn’t _know_.”

It was silent between them, only the sound of seagulls calling to each other and other people bustling around doing errands keeping it from being dead quiet. Sylvie sighed after a long moment, looking every one of her years. It was such a drastic change from only a few minutes before.

“Ezra, my dear boy, you seem like such a bright young man,” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose a bit, not anywhere near young _or_ man enough for that statement to apply. “But how can you be so _thick?_ ”

The angel felt himself twitch, his blush deepening in embarrassment. “Well, _pardon me-_ ”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Sylvie waved off his complaining impatiently. She stared at him, her thick brows furrowed under her glasses. “That boy loves you with _everything_ he has, and I’m surprised that you still haven’t figured that out. He’s so obvious I’m sure _God_ knows!”

Aziraphale stiffened, risking a glance at the clouds. “I should hope not! I’m guessing She wouldn’t be very pleased.”

Sylvie sighed again. She took his hand into her own on top of the worn wooden table, her rich umber skin wrinkled and spotted with age. “God loves _all_ Her children, Ezra Fell, including the ones who society deems She shouldn’t. Whoever told you otherwise is _wrong,_ and your feelings for your Anthony are _not_ bad or sinful. My Judith, bless her soul, was like you in a lot of ways. It took her a long time to accept herself and accept her feelings for me. In the end, though, no one can do it for you. You have to make the decision: do you want to continue as you have, together but not? Or do you want to take the chance that will change everything?”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, as her words washed through him. She didn’t know the whole story, couldn’t _possibly_ understand-

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” Aziraphale’s voice was near a whisper, the tremor in it almost going unheard. Sylvie, though, apparently heard it loud and clear from the way she squeezed his hand.

“Then you pop right over to mine and we’ll come up with a plan over tea and biscuits.” The older woman nodded, as if the deal was done. Aziraphale could only laugh shakily, a long forgotten pressure building behind his eyes. He hadn’t cried in a long while, not since the 1980’s at least, so he was quite flummoxed as to why his body decided _now_ would be a good time to start again.

He sniffed his tears back as they rose from their table. Sylvie enveloped him in a long hug, her strength definitely not that of a woman her age. After exchanging numbers and a promise to call later that night, Aziraphale headed off back home, his head jumbled with warring emotions.

He had no idea what he was going to do.

\-----

Aziraphale barely remembered the walk back to the cottage. All he could think of was what Sylvie said, her words turning over and over in his mind.

_No one can do it for you. Your feelings are not bad. He loves you._

_Have courage._

_Have courage._

_Have courage._

The angel suddenly found himself in his living room. The house was dark and silent, the fire that usually burnt in the hearth put out.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out, his own voice echoing back at him. The only sound was the house settling against the wind that blew outside, the ticking of the clock in his study, the slight drip of the kitchen sink. No sign of Crowley.

The angel hummed softly as he moved around the front of the house, hoping to find a clue as to where the demon had run off to. He found it after a moment, tacked up on the fridge with a tacky magnet from their spontaneous visit to Greece all those months ago.

 

> _angel_
> 
> _ive gone down to the beach for a break before i destroy those wretched plants_  
>  _come sit w me if im not back before you :)_
> 
> _c_

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s uneven script, that tight feeling in his chest aching in such a good way. He stuck the note back up on the fridge and strode out the front door, intent on finding his wayward demon.

\-----

The sun was just starting to finish its journey through the sky, inching ever so slowly towards the horizon, when the angel hit the sand. He stood there for a moment, admiring the myriad of colors the sky had taken on during its final hour, before bending down to take off his socks and shoes. He rolled up the hem of his trousers while he was at it, not wanting to dirty them too much. The sand was warm on his feet, only just cooling as he abandoned his shoes the farther he walked.

He could see Crowley already, knee deep in the water and bent at the waist. As he drew closer, a warbling kind of whistle floated back to him. The song was familiar, one he hadn’t heard in a few decades outside of his own gramophone.

“Since when do you know any Nina Simone songs?”

Aziraphale could only laugh as Crowley jerked and almost toppled into the water. Crowley looked over to him, his brows drawn behind his shades and his mouth pressed in an embarrassed line, before making his way over. The demon’s shirtsleeves were rolled up along with his trouser hem, though Aziraphale could tell they were both already soaked, as if Crowley had forgotten to fix himself before wandering into the ocean.

“I’ll have you know,” the demon started as he drew near, as slow as a tortoise in the water. “I _like_ jazz, angel. There’s a reason it’s call the devil’s music.”

Crowley smirk made the thing in Aziraphale’s chest grow in size, forcing an answering smile onto the angel’s face. Crowley looked _good;_ happy and relaxed, a little sunburnt and wet at the edges and covered in salt. It was a fantastic look for him, this contentedness, this easy bliss.

Aziraphale felt as if his unneeded lungs were going to shrivel like raisins as the demon took hold of his hand and led him further into the water. He didn’t care that the bottoms of his rolled trousers were steadily becoming submerged in the waves, as long as Crowley’s thin fingers stayed laced with his own.

“Here, let me show you how fantastic I am.” Crowley’s smirk widened into an excited grin as he withdrew his hand from the angel’s. He bent back into the water, as he was when Aziraphale first saw him, his arms plunging between the waves. After a moment, he was back to standing straight up, one of his hands closed around something.

The angel blinked as Crowley’s cold, wet hand took one of his own and placed something on his palm. A piece of sea glass twinkled in the dying light, rough edges smoothed by the tides.

“I’m pretty good at finding these little things, yeah,” the demon said proudly, reaching into his pocket, heedless of his still dripping arms. He pulled out a handful more of the pieces of sea glass, all different colors and shapes, all equally beautiful for their differences. Crowley pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead with his free hand as he stuffed his treasures back into his pocket, a bit pink in the cheeks from his sunburn. “They reminded me of you, so I thought you would like them. We could make this little thingy that looks like stained glass Anathema was showing me and hang it in your study, so the light would make the colors go everywhere.”

Aziraphale stared at the little piece of glass in his palm. It sparkled in the dying light, the bright topaz color so reminiscent of the demon’s own eyes. This little piece of glass had travelled so far, for so long, to wind up on that beach at this time. It must’ve been a tough journey, tumbling around in the dark waves, edges smoothing out over the decades, becoming something wholly new and beautiful, only to be plucked out of its comfortable hiding in the sand by a demon with an infectious grin and a heart too big for a Fallen angel.

He felt like the sea glass, then, taken by the currents towards Crowley. Always towards Crowley.

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if they would both shatter into a million pieces at the slightest pressure, swept away in the waves and the sand. Aziraphale’s hand, the other still clutching his beautiful gift, slid up to cradle Crowley’s jaw, oh so _slowly,_ as to not destroy them both.

It was a soft existence, then, as the waves rolled around their legs and the seagulls cried above them. Aziraphale felt at peace as he kissed Crowley, the shining thing in his chest expanding to warm his entire being inside and out. He felt as if he could pop his wings out and take off, while also never wanting to let the demon go. Aziraphale knew their partnership- nay, their _friendship_ was ruined in that moment, because he could never go another day without kissing Crowley like his life depended on it.

Crowley certainly looked as if he would fracture as the angel broke the kiss a moment (an hour, a decade, a lifetime) later. His eyes were the widest Aziraphale had ever seen, the amber of them expanding to cover the entire sclera, like when they first met in the Garden. He looked… Panicked. Confused. Guarded. But hopeful, too, somehow.

Leave it to Crowley to have such wildly contradicting emotions.

“A-Aziraphale,” the demon choked out, his beautiful eyes glittering with emotion. His face was steadily growing red, mixing with his light sunburn and turning it almost invisible. “What-”

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled at the demon, effectively shutting him up. The thumb on the hand still cupping Crowley’s jaw started stroking the skin there gently. “In a _very_ non-angelic way. I have for quite a long time now, and I wanted you to know.”

The demon was silent, his mouth hanging open a bit, as his brain visibly processed what was happening. His teeth clacked together as his jaw snapped shut a minute later. Aziraphale tried not to wince at the sound, his nerves shaking as this bout of courage threatened to abandon him.

“How long.” It wasn’t a question, but the angel answered anyway. He was gracious like that.

“At least since Rome, but I’ve only _really_ known since the Blitz, when you saved my books.”

Crowley’s gaze was intense as he stared Aziraphale down. The angel dropped his hand from the other’s face a moment later, needing to pull himself back as the silence stretched between them. Crowley didn’t stop him.

“Listen,” Aziraphale started nervously as looked away, trying to hide his suddenly shaking hands. This very annoying itch was starting up at the back of his throat, and he would be _damned_ if he allowed Crowley to see him cry. “If-If you don’t feel the same, that’s perfectly fine, but-”

“Shut up, Aziraphale.”

The angel could only bite at his lip as Crowley scrubbed through his fiery hair. He contemplated just running away and pretending it never happened, as he usually did. It was sounding better by the second, honestly

Just as he made the decision to flee, though, Crowley’s hands cupped his face, tilting it up as to look in his eyes. The demon’s were like molten gold as he searched the angel’s face. “I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale sniffled, his smile watery and unstable, as he rested his hands against the demon’s chest tentatively. “I think I mucked it up to start with, darling.”

“You could never.” Crowley pulled him closer to rest their foreheads together, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he shut his eyes. “I just have no idea how to tell you just how much I-”

Aziraphale looked up at the demon when he paused, his face so much closer than the angel was used to. He could count the demon’s long lashes, the new freckles dotting the skin near his hairline, the light tan line on the bridge of his nose from his sunglasses.

He was interrupted from his unabashed admiring of Crowley when the demon in question opened his eyes and stared directly at him. His smile was the most beautiful thing the angel had ever seen.

“I don’t know how to tell you just how much I love you too, Aziraphale.”

He pulled back from Crowley, his thoughts slowing to the pace of a turtle as he tried to comprehend what the demon had said. Aziraphale felt the bright thing in his chest expand to the size of a planet, completely engulfing him as he clutched at Crowley’s shirt. He felt as if he would burst at the seams with it, the love he felt for the demon in front of him burning up his air.

“You love me,” he said with wonder coloring his voice. Crowley only smiled at him, reaching up to tuck a piece of white blond hair behind his ear.

“Of course I do, angel. I have since almost the first moment I saw you.”

“The first- Wait, how could you? I would’ve noticed!” Aziraphale cried, suddenly feeling a bit distraught and confused. “I’m an _angel,_ Crowley, I can feel love! I would’ve _known!_ ”

“Hey, I’m not lying to you, Aziraphale,” the demon frowned, forcing the angel still by taking hold of both of his shoulders. “I just thought you knew already and have been ignoring it, honestly. I mean, I’m not exactly _subtle,_ am I?”

His self-deprecating grin fell flat when Aziraphale only stared up at him, his bemusement growing by the second. “Just- Listen, just send your feelers out, yeah? Have a look-see.”

The angel swallowed thickly as he nodded. He closed his eyes, momentarily distracted by the warm weight of Crowley’s hands on his shoulders and the gentle movement of the waves around them, before he really concentrated.

“It just feels like normal,” he despaired after a few moments. Really now, Crowley didn’t have to spare his feelings- “It’s just feels like the normal love around Earth, just as it always has.”

“When did it start feeling like that, though?” Crowley was uncharacteristically patient, a small tick of his lips betraying his otherwise serious look. Aziraphale frowned at the silly question, but answered nonetheless. If Crowley wanted to try and redirect this line of questioning, far be it from him to stop it. The angel felt like his heart would probably break when Crowley admitted to the rather cruel lie he was telling, so putting that off for another moment longer was fine by him.

“Well, since Eden, I suppose. The start of the world, and all that.”

“Have you ever wondered where it came from?” Crowley’s smile widened a bit, but still looked so _sad_. Aziraphale felt his heart breaking after all. “After all, there were only four bodies on the entire planet right in the beginning, and the humans were _literally_ made for each other.”

“Yes, they were very much in love,” Aziraphale smiled as he remembered those first two humans. “But their love was… Different, it was solely to each other and plain for anyone to see- well, any angel to see.”

Crowley ignored Aziraphale’s apologizing cringe with a shake of his head. His hands tightened on the angel’s shoulders, his expression becoming a tad more insistent as his patience wore thin.

“They were the ones to show you that kind of love, so different to an angel’s love for everything God created. I know that much, but what about the other love you feel? The kind you’ve felt every day of your life here on Earth, no matter where you went or what you did,” the demon pressed, his voice growing strained as Aziraphale watched in helpless confusion. “It was always there, in the background; tagging along as you puttered through history in your stuffy, beautiful clothes and ate your fancy food, collected your books and were so frustratingly _you_. It may have changed shape a bit, every hundred years or so gaining a new facet, but it was consistently _strong_ and _there_.”

“How-How could you possibly know that, Crowley?” Aziraphale felt like he was going to shake out of his skin the longer Crowley spoke. Everything the demon said was true, down to the very last detail, and he had no idea what to do with that knowledge. He felt as if the entire universe had stopped to listen with bated breath, the crash of the waves muffled behind the sound of his own racing heart.

“Because I’ve always known, Aziraphale,” Crowley seemed to sag at the admission, his disconsolate smile returning and breaking the angel’s heart even further. “I’ve felt it for 6,000 years at this point, so I hope I can at least recognize it.”

Aziraphale felt as if the entire planet had tilted on its axis, or like he had been struck by God Herself. He raised a shaking hand to brush against Crowley’s cheek, who leaned into the touch like a cat, that sad smile still curling at his lips.

“You love me. You really, _truly_ love me, don’t you?” It came out almost as a whisper, nearly swallowed by the sound of the waves around them. Thankfully, Crowley was close enough to the angel to hear it loud and clear, as his smile brightened to rival the awe inspiring sunset behind him.

“Of course I do, angel,” the demon said, equally as soft, as he pressed their foreheads together. “There’s no one else in all of creation who I would ever love as much as you. It could only _ever_ be you.”

Aziraphale’s vision immediately blurred as the tears he was holding back made their escape. A giddy laugh bubbled up and out of him before he could stop it, causing Crowley to adopt a bit of a panicked look himself. He wiped at the angel’s cheeks gently, murmuring reassuring nonsense as he did.

“Oh stop it, you silly snake,” Aziraphale giggled, a hiccup interrupting him halfway through. He couldn’t seem to stop the flow of tears, but that was so far beyond him at that point. All the angel could do then was grip Crowley’s collar in his fists and pull him down into another kiss.

This one was a bit different, though, as their teeth clacked together painfully and Aziraphale’s tears leaked into their mouths. It was frantic, more of a desperate attempt to hold on than anything, and it was also _perfect_. Just as perfect as the first, if Aziraphale could say so himself.

He only had a moment’s warning when he felt Crowley’s arms slip around his waist before he was spinning through the air, sailing above the water with only the demon to keep him from flying off into the waves. Aziraphale laughed into the kiss as the purest joy he had ever felt filled him right to the brim and then some.

The kiss gentled as Crowley set him back on his unsteady feet in the water. They finally broke apart a few moments later, the demon pressing his forehead against the angel’s once more as they tried to catch their breath. Aziraphale’s tears had stopped as well, leaving him with just his elated giggles every so often and stinging eyes.

A sudden tapping of raindrops hit them on their heads, forcing them to part enough to look at the sky. Dark storm clouds had rolled in while they weren’t paying attention, it seemed, and now the Heavens were crying.

Aziraphale hoped it was a happy crying, like he had done, rather than the opposite. He hoped Sylvie had been right and God was happy for them.

He smiled at Crowley and laced their fingers together, his heart soaring that he was allowed such a simple touch now without second guessing it. He was _absolutely_ never letting go again. “Let’s go home now, love.”

“Don’t go thinking I’ll allow such a mushy nickname now, angel,” the demon grinned as they slowly fought their way out of the water. Aziraphale could only stare at him, his love for Crowley brighter than any star in the universe.

“Well, would you prefer darling? How about sweetheart, or heart’s gleam, or even-”

“Alright, I get it!” Crowley stopped him with a laugh. Aziraphale pressed his lips together, trying not to smile again but failing quite miserably.

The rain picked up some when they hit the sand, forcing them to rush back up the sloping dirt path towards home. The cottage was warm, dark, and blessedly dry when they barged through the front door, dripping all over the floor. The wind started howling outside, rattling the windows and shaking the entire house like a leaf.

“My, that’s quite a storm out there.” Aziraphale peeked out the front window, his face illuminated for a second as lightning lit the sky. “It’s really coming down. Good thing we- My shoes! Oh no!”

“What?” Crowley blinked at him in the dark, still dripping everywhere and splattered with mud from their run up the hill. A frustrated grunt and a snap later, they were both clean again and the puddles beneath them gone.

“I forgot my Oxfords on the beach! And my socks, oh I loved that pair.” The angel was genuinely quite sad; the socks had had little grinning snakes on them, a gag gift from Crowley at some point in their friendship that he honestly liked.

Said demon scoffed, shaking his head at Aziraphale’s own brand of melodrama. Another snap and both of the articles in question appeared next to the front door, dry as the both of them and perfectly fine.

“Oh-! Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale kissed his cheek chastely. He wasn’t going to hold back anymore, if he could get away with it; the demon was just going to have to drown in affection.

Said demon only beamed goofily, still a bit pink in the cheeks, as he turned away to light a fire in the hearth. The comforting light and warmth of the fire set Aziraphale at ease almost instantly.

They both fell onto the couch and gravitated toward each other. Crowley ended up pinned to the cushions with the angel half on top of him, a head resting on the demon’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as he wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist to hold him closer.

The silence was comfortable between them in a way it hadn’t been before. Rain hit against the windows with a fever, the wind howling behind it and sending the fire into a haze of sparks every now and then. Aizraphale was content to sit and listen to it all for the rest of time, if they wanted, as long as Crowley’s steady heart under his cheek kept beating.

\-----

The next day of the rest of their lives started like all the others had so far; Aziraphale, in his rumpled clothes from the day before and mussed hair, started a pot of coffee for Crowley while he put the kettle on for himself. As he waited for both of their drinks to finish, he stared out the kitchen window toward the horizon, letting his thoughts sleepily drift as the minutes ticked by. The storm had passed in the night, thankfully, leaving broken branches and leaves all over the back garden. The sky was still overcast and dreary looking, but the sun was making a valiant attempt to break through as he watched. Aziraphale had a feeling it was going to shape up to be a perfect day.

Waking up wrapped around Crowley was probably the majority of that feeling, if he was to be honest.

The whistling of the kettle drew him back to reality with a jump. His cup was made up swiftly and emptied just as quick, the caffeine and sugar actually doing something to wake him up a little. He was just starting to crack the eggs into the warm pan on the stove, another cup of tea steaming on the counter next to him, when the routine took a left turn. Two thin arms wrapped around his waist from behind, a firm chest pressed against his back and a pointy chin dropped sleepily onto his shoulder.

“Y’know, I would rather this place not go up in flames, angel,” came the mumbled remark into his neck, causing Aziraphale to twitch and suppress a laugh. The demon started laying tickling kisses on the skin there, always one to cause a bit of mischief even if he was half asleep.

Aziraphale smacked at one of the hands on his stomach, his giggles infectious enough to make Crowley hide his own smile in the angel’s neck. “Stop that, you, or it really will go up in flames. Coffee’s in the pot, make yourself more alive first.”

“You really know how to keep the romance alive,” Crowley drawled as he extracted himself from Aziraphale’s back. Seemed like sleeping on the couch brought out the snark in the demon; not that it was much different to his usual sarcasm, honestly. The antique rotary phone by the door started ringing, then, causing them both to jump a bit. The pan was turned down and left to sizzle while Crowley woke himself up, the angel kissing his cheek chastely as he passed. The blush on Crowley’s cheeks and the smile hidden in his coffee cup was worth more than any treasure the angel could think of.

“Crowley and Fell residence,” he greeted into the phone, his eyes still on the demon. Crowley had moved onto his second cup already, sipping at it while he poked at the eggs on the burner with the spatula. Crowley caught him staring and winked, his amber eyes filled with a lingering sleepiness and a lot of laughter.

“Ezra, my boy!” the caller interrupted his unabashed ogling, her voice cheerful despite the early hour. “It’s Sylvie, dear, how are you?”

“Oh Sylvie, hello! Jolly good, I must say, and you?”

Sylvie, however, was apparently done with the niceties as soon as they began. “I take it everything went well with your young man then?”

Aziraphale felt his face warm as he risked a glance back at Crowley. The demon gave him a questioning look as he tossed the bacon in the pan. A second later, though, he jumped back with a hiss as the greased popped and hit the bare skin arm. The angel tried to stifle a laugh as Crowley pouted, rubbing the injured spot. He knew the small burns would be gone almost as soon as they had appeared, but Crowley was ever the drama queen.

“Well- Um, that is to say- Yes, actually,” he stuttered through the sentence, his cheeks growing warmer by the second as his grin grew in tandem. “It went fantastically well, to be honest.”

An ear piercing clamor started up on the other end of the phone, causing Aziraphale to jerk the receiver away from his ringing ear. Sylvie’s excited voice eventually broke through the din. “Oh, I _knew_ you could do it! We’re so proud of you!”

The angel narrowed his eyes slightly. “What in Heaven was that noise? Who’s ‘we’?”

“Oh dear,” another woman’s voice said through the line, sounding a bit distressed. “Let the cat out of the bag there, Sylvie love.”

“Well, that’ll be Mrs. Hobbs, dearie. I think you met her the other day?” Sylvie herself had no qualms about an audience, apparently, making Aziraphale’s face flush hotter. How much did Mrs. Hobbs know? The older woman quickly interrupted his mounting panic with her chatter, unknowing of the angel’s embarrassment. “There’s also Mr. Lewis here, and Mr. and Mrs. Evans, though I don’t think you’ve quite met them yet. Mrs. Cohen is in the garden with Mr. Hobbs, I believe, and I think the Mmes. Flint are canoodling in the kitchen on the premise of getting tea for everyone. That should be everyone, I should think. They’ll be so excited to hear the news!”

“There’s-” Aziraphale choked out, causing Crowley to look over in concern from where he was just finishing up with the cooking. “There’s _nine people_ in your home who-who know about my _relationship problems?_ ” He couldn’t stop himself from whispering the end of his sentence, the embarrassment in him making his face feel aflame.

“What’s got you so upset, angel?” The demon was next to him then, hovering over his shoulder with barely contained worry. It made his heart ache, knowing that Crowley cared so much.

“Ooh, is that your young man now, dearie?” Sylvie’s excited voice drifted through the line, startling Aziraphale. “What was his name again? Anthony?”

Crowley must’ve heard his name as he plucked the receiver out of the angel’s hand. “Who’s asking?”

The conversation was one sided for a while after that. Aziraphale could hear the older woman’s voice rise and fall as she spoke, but not the words themselves. Rather, he tried to parse what she was saying through Crowley’s expressions. He could usually read the demon quite well (ignoring the whole in-love-for-6000-years thing) even when Crowley was trying to hide how he actually felt.

Now, though, it was like the demon was made of stone. He allowed absolutely no indication of how he felt to what he was hearing; leaving Aziraphale quite put out, to be honest. The only thing that slipped through was the pinkening of his cheeks after a long pause from the phone, Sylvie’s laughter easy to recognise as Crowley steadily grew more embarrassed. The angel had to bury his face in Crowley’s shirt, still smelling of the ocean, to hide his smile lest he get the evil eye from the demon.

“Right then,” Crowley finally replied, his face still radiating heat. “Lovely talking with you, got to jet, see ya later, bye.” He pushed the phone back into Aziraphale’s hand and took off for the bedroom, muttering the entire way. The door closed behind him just shy of a slam.

“What did you say to him?” Aziraphale felt exasperated and a little left out. “It’s got him in quite the mood now.”

“Just the truth, dear.”

He groaned. “Oh no, you told him about our chat yesterday, didn’t you?”

The woman’s only reply was her laughter.

“Well,” he said as he rubbed at his forehead. Angels couldn’t really get headaches like humans could, but Aziraphale imagined that he was probably the exception to that rule at the moment. “I should go do some damage control, so thank you for that, Sylvie.”

“Don’t be such a downer, Ezra dear,” Sylvie couldn’t seem to keep the smile out of her voice. “Now, you both must visit soon. I need to hear the details of what happened!”

Crowley emerged from the bedroom then, fully dressed in a new set of clothes and put together for the day. Aziraphale couldn’t stop the smile from taking over his face when he caught sight of the demon. “Of course, we can pop over for tea today, if you like. Introduce you properly to my- what do you call him? My _young man_.”

The demon, now in the kitchen and just sitting down with his third cup of coffee, froze halfway to his seat. He was blinking rapidly as he mouthed _‘young man’_ to himself, his blush returning with a ferocity.

Aziraphale’s laughter couldn’t be contained as Sylvie agreed to the arrangement.

“Yes, we’ll come around some time after two, I think. Anthony will be quite cross when he sees the garden and I don’t expect to leave until its fixed.”

“What’s wrong with my garden, then?!” Crowley shouted, abandoning his coffee and heading for the front door to investigate. His subsequent yelling at all the debris littered over the yard, his already muffled voice fading slightly as he paced the length of the property to fully investigate.

“Yes yes, that’ll be fine, love. Oh, and you two can meet the rest of my little street! They’re quite eager to meet you.” The angel smiled to himself; this woman’s friendship was something to be cherished, indeed.

“That sounds lovely.”

“Oh, and Ezra? I’m very glad _you_ came around,” Sylvie said softly, her voice fond and motherly and everything that made life better, if only for a moment. “You found that courage I knew you had and let yourself be vulnerable. I’m very proud of you, my dear.”

Aziraphale found himself with blurry vision for the second time in less than 24 hours. That had to be some kind of record: how many times can an angel cry in the same day?

“Thank you,” was all he said instead of all that _mush_.

“You’re very welcome, love,” Sylvie’s own voice was choked up a bit, sniffling on the other end, though he could still hear her smile as clearly as he could see the sun just breaking through the clouds outside. “I’ll see you when you pop around.”

He set the phone back into its cradle with the utmost gentleness. It took a second, but he eventually composed himself once more, scrubbing at his stinging eyes. Crowley could still be heard yelling as he stepped out the front door, once again in the front garden. He was brandishing a large stick like a sword at the apple tree that he planted, threatening bodily mutilation for daring to wreck the rest of the lawn.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

He hadn’t noticed Crowley coming up to him, let alone his tirade ending. He had been too busy being overwhelmed with how much he loved the demon in front of him, how much he appreciated a little old lady who went out of her way to be his friend.

“Oh nothing bad, love,” Aziraphale leaned in to kiss his cheek sweetly, causing a dopey grin to break out on Crowley’s face. His uncovered eyes sparkled in the morning sun, the love in them plain for even God to see. The angel had no _idea_ how he had ever missed it before. “Let’s clean up the garden and then head over to Sylvie’s for tea. I think you’ll be quite surprised when you meet her.”

“I feel like I already know her somehow…” Crowley frowned, barely twitching when Aziraphale laced his fingers with the demon’s free hand. “Anyway, I’m going to personally fight the next storm to blow in if it ruins all my hard work like this. I mean it too, angel.”

“I know, dear,” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, his smile unable to be contained no matter how hard he tried. Not that the angel tried very hard, mind you. He didn’t think he would try to hide how he felt about Crowley ever again. “Come on.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what the future would bring. Gabriel could come tomorrow with the entire Heavenly army and smite them to kingdom come. Beelzebub could rise up out of the ground and kill Crowley themself, since their last envoy was unsuccessful. God could deem him a Fallen Angel and his wings could turn as black as night, a perfect match to Crowley’s.

It didn’t matter, though. As they worked side by side to clear up their garden, making Crowley’s beautiful work shine again one spotless piece at a time, he knew that none of it mattered anymore. Aziraphale was his own angel- no, his own _person_. He was more than the angels, now. He loved Earth and humanity, all of their delicious food and their fantastic art. He loved his bookshop and his old fashioned clothes, the noise of London and the peace of South Downs. The laughter of the Them always brought a smile to his face, Newt and Anathema were always up for an interesting conversation, Shadwell and Madam Tracy- well, Madam Tracy was a delight. Shadwell could very well think Aziraphale was a witch if it suited him, as long as the man didn’t accidentally discorporate him again. He loved these people and these things, so much that it filled him up almost to the brim.

He also loved Crowley, the flash bastard who was too kind for a demon, who drove a ridiculous car and played his bebop too loud, so stylish and always down to empty a bottle of wine or ten. He was in love with the demon who cared, about his plants and children and Aziraphale, even though he wasn’t supposed to; who was kicked out of Heaven and marked as Fallen for asking too many questions, who led humanity into relishing knowledge and always _questioning_ through a simple apple.

Aziraphale loved his fiery hair, always styled so differently but always so perfect; his thin hands and long fingers, who had never enjoyed causing genuine pain and suffering to humanity; his smart mouth and striking eyes and _astonishingly_ silly way of walking and his mind, his fantastic imagination that separated him so fully from other demons. Honestly, it separated him from any other being the angel had ever met.

He loved everything about Crowley, and he didn’t care anymore that Gabriel and Heaven wouldn’t like it. He almost didn’t care if God didn’t like it either (but he would probably always crave Her validation, let’s be honest).

Crowley made him brave. They tried to stop the Apocalypse, for goodness sake, just because they didn’t want the one place in the universe where they could be together to be destroyed! They tried to raise the AntiChrist to be a perfectly normal person! Though that had backfired quite spectacularly, hadn’t it?

It didn’t matter, though, because Aziraphale knew that they could do anything, as long as they were together. Crowley would never let Heaven take him away, and Aziraphale knew he would smite the entirety of Hell just to keep the demon safe. As long as they had each other, they could do anything.

And as they made their way down to the village some time later, the sun shining brightly in the sky and their fingers laced together, Aziraphale could’ve _sworn_ he felt fingers brush through his hair. This sense of peace and love filled him even as he looked around in confusion, brushing it off a moment later as nothing jumped out at him. He attributed the sudden feeling to listening to Crowley’s continued rant about the storm, nothing more.

God smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats a wrap!!!! 
> 
> the beach scene was heavily inspired by [qrdrws'](https://qrdrws.tumblr.com/) comic [T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock](https://qrdrws.tumblr.com/post/185582658234/ts-eliots-the-love-song-of-j-alfred-prufrock) (specifically [part 9](https://qrdrws.tumblr.com/post/185652584889/ts-eliots-the-love-song-of-j-alfred-prufrock))
> 
> i kept up w the comic as it was posted and it was so beautiful and heartbreaking and AHH that i wrote this whole thing - go check it out if you havent yet!!
> 
> i was also inspired by [brinnanza's](https://brinnanza.tumblr.com/) [post](https://brinnanza.tumblr.com/post/182795712316/fic-where-aziraphale-is-fully-aware-that-he-is) for their little chat in the ocean it literally stole my breath so i had to incorporate it somehow :')
> 
> as always, you can find me on [my tumblr](https://spaceybutt.tumblr.com/) so hmu if you wanna chat 
> 
> thank you for reading!! 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛


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